theantthatwrites

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Showman (Part 2)

A steady knock on my dressing room door snapped me out of my daydreaming. Right on time, as always, I thought. I opened the door and greeted my guest.

“Ah, dear Emilia, I’m in dire need of your services.”

I stepped aside as the demoness carried a metal tray of vials into the room. Emilia was one of, if not the only person I could count on in this world. She was tall and slender with small, but perky breasts. Her flesh was a reddish-orange hue like that of flame. Above her rear was a black, whiplike tail that could lash at a moment’s notice. On her forehead protruded two tiny horns that gave her an aura of danger.

“Bad day?” she asked in a honey sweet voice.

“Like you couldn’t believe,” I responded with apparent exhaustion.

“Aww, you poor thing. Let your dear Emilia make it better.” The demoness placed the tray on my desk. “Strip.”

I was happy to oblige my guest and didn’t waste a moment taking off my clothes. Emilia playfully looked away as I undressed, but would occasionally cast a coy glance in my direction. Once completely nude, I sprawled out on my bed in eager anticipation. On my stomach and with my head turned towards Emilia, I watched as she poured a clear liquid on her hands from a silver vial in the shape of two snakes constricting a heart.

“New oil?” I inquired.

Emilia nodded. “It’s called ‘Venomous Love.’ It’s made from agony serpent venom that’s been diluted and mixed with an extract from the petals of purple pygmy pansies. They say it heats and numbs the muscles while you drift off into a state of delicious ecstacy. Very rare, but I thought you’d enjoy it.”

I smiled as she secured the vial in the belt of her silky purple robe. “Sounds delightful.”

“I sure hope it does. It took a lot of string pulling just to get one vial. You’re lucky I like you.”

She buried her hands in my flesh and began kneading out all of my knots with a mesmerizing grace. Her feminine fingers pushed and pulled on my back. Just as she said it would, my skin blazed with heat as my muscles numbed. I could get used to this ‘Venomous Love.’

“Oooooh, you did have a tough day. I’ve never felt you this tense before. What’s wrong?”

I grunted as she dug into the muscles of my lower back. “It’s my next play.”

“Sorrow of the Sisters?”

“Trial of the Twins,” I corrected.

“Right, that’s what it was. Well, what’s wrong with it?”

I emitted a sigh that was a mix of both frustration with the show, and pleasure from my massage. “Everything. My actors are shit, the set looks like shit, the building is shit, and the audience is going to be shit.”

“Wow, that’s...a lot of shit,” Emilia replied.

“I know.” I hid my face deep in my pillow in shame.

“Maybe rather than looking at all your problems as one entity,” suggested the demoness, “you focus on one issue at a time instead. That way, everything seems more manageable. Turn over.”

“What do you mean,” I asked as I lied on my back, staring at the ceiling. Cracks in the stone crisscrossed over the surface like a web.

Emilia rubbed my chest both firmly and gently, allowing the oil to soak in. Her loose fitting robe dipped down, revealing her breasts to my wandering eye. She caught me peeking and smiled, revealing a couple of small, pointed fangs.

“Take your actor problem, for example,” she explained. “Remove all other worries from your mind and focus solely on that. Now, what exactly is the issue with your actors?”

I thought for a few moments as Emilia moved her hands across my abdomen. “They can’t act worth a damn,” I answered.

“Mhmm. Don’t you normally just replace actors that can’t pull their weight?”

“I do, but my options for replacements are severely lacking at the moment. Travelers to the Stardust Valley aren’t nearly as numerous as they used to be. I’m starting to think they’re avoiding me. I don’t know why, though. I’m bringing culture to these miserable cretins.”

“I see,” Emilia said in that playful way of hers. Her hands slowly and gently slid down my midsection. “I think you’re missing one apparent option, however.”

Lower and lower her hands went, exploring my body. “Mmm, am I? And who might that be?”

Her fingertips grazed over my thighs, just barely touching the flesh. “Why me, of course,” she answered while licking her lips.

Her hands were deliciously close to where I so desperately wanted for them to touch.

“But sweetie,” I corrected, “your cheekbones are completely wrong for an actress.”

Right as her hand was about to grasp my manhood, she stopped. Her previously sensual expression turned to hard stone. “What did you just say?”

“Your cheekbones,” I repeated. “They’re too low. Your face is too round. An actress’ face needs to be sharp and pronounced. Yours is too, indistinct, I suppose would be the word.”

Emilia stood up straight and smoothed out her robe. “Right. We’re done here. I’m going to need quite the motivation if you want me back, as well.”

I watched in confusion as the demoness grabbed her tray of oils and stormed out of my dressing room.

#Demoniac #The Showman #short story #creative writing #fantasy #dark fantasy #demons

[theantthatwrites]

Ghoul (poem)

Note: So this is another manga/anime based poem. This time it’s about Tokyo Ghoul. In Tokyo Ghoul, there are human looking monsters known as “ghouls” who are only able to consume human flesh for sustenance. Everything else is poison to them. Well, except coffee. Don’t ask. Anyway, they live among us in secret and are constantly hunted by the authorities due to the threat they pose. While some are cruel and don’t care about the harm they cause humans, there are others who simply feed on people because they must in order survive, and would much rather be human than ghoul. It is this personality of ghoul that I wanted to demonstrate in my poem. I find the ghouls like this interesting, due to the emotional conflict that they go through.

I live my life in the shadows.

Existing in constant fear of something that would expose

The terrible, haunting truth

About the vile cravings of my tooth.

I may look like you,

That much is true,

But in reality,

I am something much more beastly.

My hunger for human flesh haunts,

The most biting of taunts.

I may live among man,

But that is simply part of fate’s sick plan.

I want nothing more than to be one of you,

Instead of relying on an outside view.

I wish for the day

That I no longer need to be the hunter of prey.

I desire a normal life,

Instead of one filled with strife.

I dream of the day we can stand

Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.

#poetry #poem #creative writing #manga #anime #tokyo ghoul #writing #Ghoul

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Showman (Part 1)

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” The girl winced as my cane connected with the side of her face. The loud thwap of steel against wood rang melodically in the air. She was a pretty thing. A literal painted doll. Too bad her acting was as wooden as her flesh.

“Where’s the emotion?! The passion?!” I walked confidently past the weeping willow of an actress rubbing her struck face with tears in her emerald eyes. I pointed my cane at the actor who was trying not to show any concern for his costar.

“This man, the man who you’ve been married to for ten years and had four children with, has betrayed your trust by sleeping with your evil twin sister Margaret. This monster has turned his back on everything the two of you had spent a large part of your lives building together. Your life now seems like a total waste. The water that is your rage is about to boil over from the pot that is your sorrow! Now, what do you say?”

Margaery stood up, fists clenched and tears flowing over her irises. Yes, girl, I thought. This is what I need!

“Everett!” cried my leading lady. “How could you do this to me? To us!” Margaery stomped her petite foot into the stage floor and began gesturing with her hands for emphasis. “I loved you! I would have done anything for you! When you lost your job at the mill, who stood by your side? And when you went on that expedition through the jungle, who pulled the leeches from your body after you swam through that disgusting pond? Also, let’s not forget that incident with the bear! I wonder, who was it that distracted the beast with a provocative ursine dance so you could escape unharmed? I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t Margaret! It was your wife!”

I rubbed my chin and sighed. “That’s better, I suppose. Not quite what wanted, but it’ll have to do for now. Maybe by opening night you’ll actually be able to emote better than a comatose goat.”

I walked past the girl I was beginning to hesitate calling an actress towards my dressing room. I gazed upon the spot on her face where I had hit her and gently touched it with my fingertips. “This crack on your cheek, make sure you cover it up with makeup. We wouldn’t want our protagonist to have any unsightly blemishes, would we?”

I turned back towards Everett who was shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “And you,” I hissed while I pointed my cane at the center of his chest. “Don’t think that your performance is satisfactory either. Everett is supposed to be a gruff and untamed man. When I look at you however, all I see is a sad, forty something year old man-child who lives in his mother’s basement, and likes to sit on his hand until it goes numb so when he rubs his cock to whatever weird fetish porn he’s into that day, it’s like there’s another person doing it. You’re lucky that my pool of actor choices at the moment is rather...limited, to say the least, or you’d have been disposed of a looooooong time ago.”

Satisfied with the wisdom I imparted upon my players, I clapped and left them with a few last words. “Now, both of you go back to the actor cells and practice your parts. The big night is fast approaching and I will not accept anything less than perfection. And I’m sure you know what happens when I’m not satisfied with one of my actors, right?”

The two dimwits stared at me still and wide-eyed. “That wasn’t rhetorical,” I sneered. The players immediately nodded nearly in synch. I smiled. “Good, now get out of my sight. I’m tired of looking at you, which I must say is quite an unwelcome characteristic for an actor.”

If the stage was my home, then my dressing room was my holiday house. When I just needed to get away from it all, I knew I could come here. I hung my top hat on the hanger next to the door and leaned my cane against the wall. I looked at myself in the full body mirror next to my wardrobe and sighed.

I always got a bit stressed before every show but this one was really taking its toll. Trial of the Twins was meant to be my greatest work; my magnum opus. Yet so many things were going wrong. Not only were the actors letting me down, but I couldn’t get the set to look quite right, the audience wranglers were having trouble abducting people to fill the seats, and to top it all off the building was beginning to fall apart so now I was going to need to find a way to fix it!

I traced my finger over my face, fearful of any wrinkles that may be coming in due to stress. When I reached the smooth porcelain section, my heart eased. My demonic marking. Unlike most other demons, my transformation was relatively minor. Some permanent makeup, some sharpened teeth. The biggest alteration, however, was the change in shape to the right half of my face. Instead of soft flesh, my skin was made of white porcelain in the shape of a mask, beautiful yet haunting. I quite liked it, to be honest. A perfect look for a denizen of the stage.

#Demoniac #The Showman #short story #fiction #fantasy #demons #creative writing #dark fantasy

[theantthatwrites]

The Magician (short story)

Note: Alright, so I wasn’t planning on ever posting this one since I don’t particularly like how it turned out, but he we are. I wrote this a few years ago for a literature course I took in college. Being a huge Lovecraft fan, I wanted to try my hand at something in his style. This ended up being what I came up with. Again, I don’t particularly like how it turned out, but it might be fun for you to see one of my older attempts at a short story. I do enjoy some qualities of it, but believe there are plenty of areas that could have been improved. Maybe I’m just being overly critical. Anyway, check it out and feel free to let me know what you think.

I remember the man’s face as clearly as I do my own mother’s. His hair was long and an abyssal shade of black. His eyes were purple amethysts shining through to the deepest recesses of the soul. The mouth of that sinister man was reminiscent of a jackal’s, wide and menacing with a spine-chilling grin. It was as if one was looking at the face of a demon.

I was only a child of seven when I first met the man. At the time, my family lived in a small Pennsylvania town by the name of Tolton. We were isolated from everyone else in the state by long, empty roads and armies of grand trees. We Toltonites all knew each other by name and were always willing to lend a helping hand to a friend in need. It was this neighborly attitude that would lead to my first meeting with the one who would later haunt my dreams until the end of my days.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The sun shone brilliantly in the cloudless sky as birds sang their peaceful melody on the apple tree in my front yard. Other kids rode their bikes carelessly in the streets as their parents went about doing yard work. As for me, I decided to spend my afternoon on my swing that my father had so lovingly hung upon my home’s aforementioned apple tree. I would kick my legs forward and back, rising higher and higher towards the pale blue sky. I hadn’t a worry in the world. If only that could have lasted.

At the peak of my swing I was capable of catching a glimpse over the hill at the end of my street. Normally, all there would be was the far-reaching empty road out of town, like a portal to another world. During that afternoon in July however, that empty road was anything but.

Far on the horizon was a strange shape. From a distance the sunlight made it look like a twisted black monster creeping towards me. The sight of that monstrosity implanted an unexplainable, yet overwhelming, sense of impending doom deep within my very being. And yet I could not look away. To this day, I cannot give a reason why but I felt an unshakeable need to look upon that blackness. Nothing else in the world at that time seemed of any importance.

So all I did was swing back and forth, back and forth like a pendulum, gazing upon the doom that was about to come to Tolton, Pennsylvania. As the ghastly figure drew nearer, its visage grew clearer. I was able to recognize what it actually was: a pitch black horse-drawn wagon. I watched uneasily as it rattled over the hill.

The buggy reached my house shortly after conquering the hill. I was able to see the driver when it reached my house. Or more importantly, he was able to see me. His haunting purple eyes met mine and I shuddered. From where I was I could not be absolutely sure, but I think he smiled. It looked like a half-hearted smirk, sick and twisted like the man who made it. And then, as sudden as a flash of lightning, the back wheel of his buggy broke off, bringing him to a halting stop.

The loud snap of the wheel and bang of the wagon alerted everyone in proximity, even those inside their homes at the time, including my parents. They never said, but I knew they were preparing for my birthday party that was coming up in a few days. My parents, being the helping sort, of course came rushing out of our house to inspect the commotion. I followed close behind.

“Seems you’re having a bit of trouble here, friend,” my father said.

“Yes, and of course I forgot my tools at home,” responded the peculiar driver. He wore a completely black suit with shining silver buttons. He had these strange white ruffles around his neck and sleeves. Upon his long, onyx hair was a tall tophat of the same color. It was as if he came from a different time.

“That’s quite all right,” said my father, “I have some in the house.” Dad looked at where the wheel had broken off. “Should be an easy enough fix.”

“You’re too kind,” declared the man. “My name is Randal by the way.” The name sent spiders crawling down my spine.

As my parents introduced themselves I took the opportunity to inspect the wagon. Everything on it was black; the wheels, the reins, everything. Upon that engulfing darkness were strange symbols drawn in purple. I couldn’t even hazard a guess as to their meaning.  If I stared at them too long, they appeared to move as if they were writhing snakes.

Then there was the horse. It was all black as if cloaked in midnight air. It mysteriously shared the same purple amethyst-like eyes of its owner. When I got a bit closer, it made an abrupt snort. Something about that snort sounded wrong though. I could have sworn the horse spoke, albeit in a rough and barely intelligible way. That could have been my imagination however.

I watched as my father fixed the wagon, praying for him to hurry so the man who called himself Randal could be on his way. I tapped my foot impatiently, trying desperately to ignore the man dressed all in black who stood nearby. That effort, of course, ended up being in vain.

“Do you like magic?” Randal asked me. I turned and saw him looking at me with a devilish grin. I nodded, trying to be as polite as I could. “If I had my wand, I’d show you some but I seem to have misplaced it. Maybe you know where it is.” I looked at him questioningly. “Check behind your ear.”

I hesitatingly did as I was told. Sure enough, there was a wand balancing perfectly upon the top of my ear. Some nearby children and parents saw the display and decided to move closer.

Randal snatched the wand from my hand. “Now how did it get there, I wonder? You must have stole it!” mocked the magician. “Do you know what happens to thieves?” Randal waved his wand. As he did, I felt my wrists get heavier. I looked down and saw a pair of metal handcuffs clasped tightly around my flesh. The other children laughed and clapped their hands as all I could do was stare in unblinking disbelief. Even the adults were amused by the show, including my mother. I felt sick to my stomach.

“I’m just kidding, I know it wasn’t you,” said Randal with a beaming grin. It took me only minutes to loathe that smile of his. The magician snapped his fingers and suddenly a key appeared between them. He bent over and freed me from bondage, the cuffs falling heavily to the ground. Before they could hit the earth however, they disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke. The audience roared in admiration as the magician bowed with his hat held before him. A black rabbit climbed out of it, hopping merrily among the crowd. I did not fail to notice the rabbit had purple eyes. The other children all laughed and cheered.

It didn’t take me long to realize that this magician’s magic was more than just slight of hand, even at that young of an age. This was no street magician who could guess what card you held. This man was something else entirely. Yet, for whatever reason, I was the only one who realized it. Or, more likely, the only one that was willing to believe it.

After his wagon was fixed, my parents offered Randal dinner and a stay at our house for the night. To my dread, he accepted my parents’ hospitality. That night, I was sure we would be having Lucifer over for supper. And I, being a mere seven year old child, could do nothing but smile politely and accept my parents’ poor judgement. How could they have been so blind?

Dinner was an absolute nightmare. It wasn’t simply because of the guest either. No, the awfulness came from the complete normality of the scene. Here we were, eating dinner with Randal the Magician, the man who could make handcuffs appear out of thin air, yet dinner conversation consisted of impending rain and the rising cost of living. Somehow the absolute plainness of the situation made it worse. I felt as if I was going to vomit.

My mother must have noticed that something was bothering me (probably due to me only eating about two bites of mashed potatoes in a span of five minutes) and asked if I was feeling well. I shook my head and asked to be excused. She agreed and sent me on my way. As I got up, Randal said with a smile that he hoped I felt better. I could not help but notice a hint of mocking in his voice. I said thanks and left the dining room.

As I walked to my room, an idea popped into my head. What if I snuck into Randal’s wagon and looked to see if I can find anything strange? Something that could prove what he is, whatever that may be? I tiptoed carefully out of the back door, making sure it didn’t slam shut. Dad was explaining to Randal what his job was so I figured I would have plenty of time.

I hurried as swiftly and as quietly as I could along the fence to the front yard where Randal’s wagon was being kept. It was already getting dark out at the time so I had to be quick in order to have any sun to search by. Thankfully, nobody else was outside. As I approached the buggy, Randal’s horse snorted at me again in that terrifying, almost human way. I heard the voice once more, but this time I thought I could actually understand what it said. To me it sounded as if the creature said “Run.”

I opened the doors in the back of the wagon and carefully climbed in, shutting them behind me. Inside, there was at least a half dozen wooden boxes piled up. Each were filled with what looked like props for a magic act. They weren’t of course, but to the uninformed that’s all they were. And at first that’s all I thought they were. Just things to set the mood for a good show; things like fake skulls (at least I like to think they were fake but something tells me they weren’t), candles, chains, that sort of thing. I began to doubt myself. Was I just being paranoid? Was this really just a magician who ran into some bad luck and my imagination just went wild? I sighed in relief, convincing myself that was the case.

As I reached to open the doors again, I heard the horse once more. “Run! Run! Run!” it snorted. As it did, I could hear a whistle. Someone was whistling a child’s nursery rhyme in gleeful, nonchalance. I froze in despair. It’s him, I thought in utter terror. Was he coming into the wagon? Some primal instinct came over me then, and without thinking I scurried swiftly behind one of the larger crates like a mouse, hoping that if he did come in here he wouldn’t see me. A gutturally bellowed “Run,” erupted from the black, amethyst-eyed horse one final time.

Like a prank of fate, Randal did indeed climb into his wagon that evening. My heart began to beat a mile a minute and my breathing became irregular. I knew he would find me, there’s no way he wouldn’t. He’d hear me, smell me, something. Yet he did not. I looked through a crack between the crates and saw him pull candles out of a nearby box. He set them on the floor by the driver side wall with a relatively large space between the pair and lit them one after the other. Then I saw the carving.

The carving on the driver side wall was similar to the strange purple drawings on the wagon’s sides. As the candles burned, Randal grabbed a knife out of the same box that he got the candles from and began to chant. The language was not English, nor any other human dialect that I have heard since. It was thick and guttural, more beast-like than man. I remember my throat hurt just hearing it. I can try to repeat it as best as I can but I cannot say it will be perfect. Terrock faw Morghulatha, Herata te Zedronoth, fer ai mar oro phy’ret, spoke the magician as he cut the palm of his hand, letting the blood drip down on the candles. When the drops hit the flames, they turned purple. V’atrrago en stradda n’eppa. Ki! Ki! Norek! That is when the true horror began.

At Randal’s words, the carving on the wall began to glow a mesmerizing purple. Then another voice answered, one that was decidedly not human. I wanted nothing more than to scream and run out of that hellish nightmare. Instead, I could only sit and watch as the show went on.

Mgwra, boroshi rt’hiji hretgr’ah voran voran, bellowed the voice from the wall. L’pahtri qzoro etchori h’eldra Requd-Do’Moreth. Xyloteth i qo’ret ekki vandrash.

After the voice stopped, Randal’s eyes met mine and he smiled. When they did, he said Norek, causing the candles to blow out and the carving to cease its otherworldly glow. I was sure he’d kill me right then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he just opened the doors of the wagon and left me alone in the darkness. I sat there, tears running down my face and shaking. After a few minutes, I walked back into the house. The night went on as if nothing had happened and the next day Randal left, never saying another a word to me.

That night has never left my mind. I have not spoken of it until now, hoping that it would just disappear from my memory. Twenty years later and I still have no idea what it meant, I just know it can’t be anything good. Every night, I lie awake and wait for something to happen, for some monster to kill me or take me away, to make me pay for knowing too much. But it never does. Instead, I just end up thinking of that black magician gazing knowingly into my eyes, smiling.

#The Magician #short story #creative writing #supernatural #horror #suspense #fiction

[theantthatwrites]

As the World Dies (Poem)

It’s a peculiar experience,

Watching helplessly as your world dies.

The life you have always known

Is on the verge of changing forever,

And yet you feel nothing.

Sure, the realization will hit you later

With all the pain that comes with it.

But in the heat of the moment?

There is only nothing.

No crystalline tears touch your cheeks.

Your fists don’t clench with rage.

But the emptiness that comes from feeling nothing is there.

Even if you feel as if emotions should flood,

Nothing still remains.

Death ends all but nothing.

#poetry #mourning #loss #death #writing #free form

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 6 FINALE)

It was mild at first. Merely a pang in my stomach here and there. I thought that maybe I could fight the urge to feed. A foolish notion, of course. Love, friendship, family; strength, determination, and willpower. It doesn’t matter in the end. Hunger conquers all.

I managed to last a couple weeks. I kept my struggle a secret during most of that time, but the truth came out when I collapsed one evening. Michael and Klaus carried me to my bed, and once again I found myself suffering just as I did shortly after arriving in Demoniac. Even so, I refused to give in. I couldn’t bear the thought of harming another one of my friends.

It snowed all during the time I was bedridden. Klaus said it was a blizzard the likes of which he had never seen in either of his lives, and that nobody was getting in or out of the castle as long as it persisted. I couldn’t look for myself, weak as I was, but judging by the bitter cold seeping through the walls of the castle, he wasn’t exaggerating. The weather didn’t bother me though. I couldn’t tell if that was a side effect of my demonic form, or if I was just too hungry to freeze.

As the days passed, my condition became worse and worse. My eyes became an ocean of blood, similar to the one I sailed upon against my will not so long ago. My body shrivelled and dried, and my fingernails fell pathetically from my hands to the sheets. I trembled nonstop, not from the cold, but from the sheer stress on my organs. I could barely speak; my mouth emitted dry scratching noises instead of words. Far worse than all of that however, was the smell that constantly tormented me from morning until night.

That delectable aroma. That tantalizing scent. The sweet, beautiful smell of blood. It was all around me. Nobody even needed to be nearby any more for it to reach my nostrils. I was surrounded by it, engulfed by it. I wanted it. Needed it.

I tried so hard to fight it; to let myself die from hunger if it meant my friends could survive and I no longer needed to bear this terrible pain. Gods, I swear I did! But…I just wasn’t strong enough. My body demanded food and I couldn’t deny it any longer. One night, after a great deal of effort, I lifted myself out of what I planned to be my deathbed and hunted for my next meal.

The world outside of my bedchamber was still and silent. The frozen fluff falling from the sky only seemed to accentuate the atmosphere. Even in Hell did snow have the magical ability to create a serene quietness.

I hastily peeked around the hall to see if any unwelcome witnesses were nearby. Thankfully, not a soul was in sight. All that I saw was an empty hallway that looked to me as if it was spinning.

I walked slowly and carefully in order to keep my balance. It wasn’t much help. The seemingly shifting wooden floor made for a potent combination with my weakened state. I needed to place a wrinkled hand on the chilled wall just to make sure I didn’t fall.

With my sight being more of a hindrance at this point rather than a boon, I decided to close my eyes and let my nose find the way. If there was any saliva left in the desert that was my mouth, I’d have been drooling. That divine aroma made me shudder with excitement. I desired it more than all the riches in the world. The scent was overwhelming, seeming to bombard me from all sides. Even so, I managed to focus in on the closest source.

With eyes shut and hand planted firmly upon the wall, I followed the smell of blood like a babe trailing its mother. My rumbling stomach begged and pleaded for me to hurry. Door after door passed beneath my bony hand, the rough wood brushing against my fingers. I took deep breaths, partly to follow the trail, and partly to indulge in the fragrance. I made a right at the intersection at the end of the hall.

As the scent of blood grew stronger, so did my eagerness. I picked up the pace, desperate to reach my prize. Faster and faster I tread. If I was capable, I’d have been running. Even so, my footsteps were strangely and mercifully silent. Was that also a talent of my demonic form? I wasn’t going to complain if it was, however.

The trail led towards the end of the second hallway. I opened my eyes and faced a closed wooden door no different from the dozen or so others I passed. No different, except for the fact that this one hid a delectable meal behind it. I gripped the handle and turned it, half expecting it to be locked. I breathed a sigh of relief as the handle offered no resistance. Honor among thieves, I mused.

I peered through the shadows, attempting to make out whose blood it was I smelled. From where I was, I couldn’t quite see with the figure being wrapped in thick blankets. I crept closer, careful not to make a sound. When I reached the bed, I saw two mandibles opening and shutting in a steady rhythm.

Michael slept without a care in the world, completely unaware of the danger he was in. My heart beat as fast as a horse’s hooves and my pulse raced. As I pulled the blanket away from his neck, my hand shook from both excitement and strain. I inched my mouth closer, yearning for that first bite. Before I did, however, I abruptly stopped, using what willpower I had to pull away.

Was I really going to do this again? I already murdered one friend, and now here I was ready to do it again. Was I really so despicable? I silently sobbed, expecting guilty tears to well up in my eyes. But they never came. My body couldn’t make them in this state. I needed food. If I didn’t eat, I was going to die, probably sooner rather than later.

I thought back to my first bout with starvation. That night when I overheard the others talking, Michael insisted on allowing me to stay, and then showed nothing but friendship from that point on. I probably would have been kicked out if it wasn’t for him, and in all likeliness would have already been dead. And yet…

I plunged my fangs deep into Michael’s neck like a viper. I sobbed as his blood flooded my mouth. Like David before him, Michael awoke as I fed upon his life, and like the fish demon, he too was paralyzed by my bite. His eyes were wide with fear, but they also hid another emotion, one that hurt nearly as bad as starvation: sadness.

I wanted to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but I couldn’t stop. I was drunk on blood. I needed more. I needed all of it. I drank to my black heart’s content, guzzling every drop of blood held in Michael’s veins. He tried to struggle, but it was futile. The paralysis caused by my venom appeared to be insurmountable.

When I was finished, I left Michael’s body alone in the dark, just as I did David’s. The others would find him and the search for a cause would begin all over again. Guilt pierced my gut as I lied in bed looking at the ceiling. This time, tears did come when I sobbed.

That night, I was visited once again by that strange dream. I was a king being led through an angry crowd of people by my shackles as my castle burned around me. The mob spat and pelted me with stones while a knight roughly tugged me along. I withstood the abuse in silence.

My walk of shame ended once I reached two men that were separate from the crowd. One was of plainly apparent noble birth who wore expensive garments and jewels, and gripped a parchment in his hands. The other wore a black hood and held a massive axe at his side, the handle digging into the dirt. The knight turned me towards the crowd and kicked me behind the knees, making me kneel. The mob went silent.

“King Vladimir Belmorne,” bellowed the nobleman as he read from his parchment. “From the moment you claimed the throne from your late father, you have taken every opportunity to exploit your subjects, who looked to you for leadership. You unfairly taxed the people of your kingdom, using the coin to fund your extravagant and overindulgent lifestyle. You commissioned sculptures and other works of art be built in your honor, yet never compensated those who made them a reality. Even worse, you started an unpopular war with our neighbors, claiming it was a preemptive strike against a potential attack, when in actuality you just wished to expand your rule. You spilled the blood of innocent people while you feasted safely in your massive castle.”

The nobleman continued. “You used the suffering of others for your own benefit. Your tyranny ends today, however. The people will no longer stand for it!”

The audience roared in agreement, calling for my head. The nobleman silenced them with a quick raise of his hand. “Do you have any last words before the people take back their kingdom?”

I seethed with hatred as I stared out upon the commonfolk gathered to witness my death. My fists clenched in my shackles. “You worthless street urchins have no idea what you’re doing!” I howled. “I am your KING! You’ll all die without me! I hope you are all looking forward to Hell, because that’s where you’re going with the rest of the king slayers, you fucking traitors!”

The mob hissed and booed. As they did, the nobleman nodded to the headsman.

The hooded executioner lifted his massive axe. He muttered beneath his breath as his weapon cleaved through my flesh. “Fucking parasite.”

#Demoniac #The Parasitic King #short story #fantasy #writing #creative writing #fiction #demons

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 5)

Days quickly turned into weeks before my eyes. The search for David’s murderer was given up eventually and, to my relief, it didn’t seem as if I would be found out. The bandits’ investigation was fruitless, leading them to only keep a general lookout for anything suspicious.  Life went on as normal for them, even so far as to have them complete the planned raids on the nearby villages.

During that time, I grew closer to those people who found it in their hearts to help me, a stranger in need. I wasn’t taken on any of the raids due to my new friends suspecting my lack of experience to be a liability. Instead, I watched over the castle while they were gone and tried to keep everything in order. They treated me as one of their own. Even Jack started to accept my presence. I wouldn’t have called us friends, but I didn’t feel the need to look over my shoulder whenever he was around. Not only that, but my hunger hadn’t yet returned, though I still dreaded the day that it was sure to come.

One day, Klaus and Michael took it upon themselves to teach me how to sword fight. We met in the courtyard early in the morning. Snowflakes danced down from the gray clouds overhead, chilling the air in the process. Klaus handed me a dull blade to match the one held by Michael, then stepped away from the impending duel.

“Let’s see what ya got, fresh meat,” the bandit leader demanded while scratching at a sore on his nose. They weren’t leaking as much today, no doubt a result of the coldness of the morning. “Good ol’ Michael here’ll be the one to test ya while I watch from the side in order to provide advice when ya need it.”

Michael stretched his arms one after the other before entering a combat-ready stance. “That’s just an excuse so the boss doesn’t have to strain himself too much.”

I chuckled as Klaus tried to deflect the gibe. I couldn’t determine if his red face was a result of the environment or embarrassment. In any case, neither of us were buying his excuses.

I entered a battle stance of my own. When I did, a wave of familiarity washed over me.

“You ready, Snow?” Michael inquired across from me.

I nodded. “I was born ready!”

“Good, because I’m not gonna go easy on you.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” I said with a confident smirk that should have been unfounded.

Michael opened our bout with a quick slash from the side. I met the attack with ease, then countered with a thrust to his midsection while his sword was knocked away. My opponent’s four eyes went wide as he looked down and saw the tip of my blade poking his chest.

Michael’s mandibles began to click; something I noticed happened whenever he got frustrated. “Beginner’s luck…” he muttered as we returned to our starting positions. I smiled, satisfied with myself.

This time, Michael tried an overhead slash. Instinctually, I turned my blade horizontally and raised it in order to catch the blow. The two swords met with a loud clang. We shoved off each other and quickly met one another’s swords again, this time from the side. I deftly turned Michael’s weapon aside, then swiftly struck him in the shoulder. He roughly rubbed the struck flesh after being taken off guard by the sudden impact.

The insect-like demon squinted his eyes in suspicion.

“Beginner’s luck?” I said with a shrug. Klaus brusquely chuckled from his spot nearby.

Michael was less amused, choosing instead to lunge instead of laugh. I pivoted on my left foot, sending my attacker flying by and tumbling to the ground. Dirt flew into the air as his body met the hard earth. He hurried to a crouching position, looking up at me with pure fury in his eyes as his mandibles clicked away in a mad frenzy.

My opponent sprang up like a frog and unleashed a tempest of wild blows. One after the other they rained down with no rhyme or reason. Any sort of skillful swordsmanship Michael may have previously showed disappeared without a trace. My arm began to move on its own, deflecting every crazed slash directed towards me. This only aggravated Michael all the more, making his onslaught all the more unwieldy. It wasn’t long until he was completely out of breath.

As Michael huffed and puffed while bent over, I pointed my sword at him. He looked up, giving his eyes a good look at the tip of my blade as it hung in front of his face. “I think I win.”

Klaus began to clap as he walked over to us. “Well, well, well, it seems the fresh meat here has some history with the sword.” He patted me on the back as Michael shoved my sword away. “Were you some kinda master swordsman, Snow?”

Was I? My body did seem to move on its own during the duel, as if deep down I knew what I was doing without remembering ever holding a sword. And yet, that didn’t seem right. But if not, then where did I learn to fight like that? My head began to hurt as I tried to piece together my memories.

I followed Klaus back towards the hall. Tilly and Jack were standing on the stairs leading inside. It turns out the two of them managed to catch the end of the duel. Jack said nothing, instead only looking at me with guarded disbelief. Tilly, on the other hand, gave me a nod with her two pairs of arms crossed.

“Nice job out there,” congratulated the female bandit.

I gave her a smile and thanked her as I walked inside the hall.

From that point on, I felt as if I managed to garner a bit of respect within the group. I didn’t see myself as just a drain on resources anymore. I could actually fight if my new friends needed me. But then, a few days after Michael and I’s bout, my stomach began to growl and that familiar crimson creeped back into my eyes. My hunger had returned.

#Demoniac #The Parasitic King #short story #creative writing #fantasy #demons #writing

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 4)

Tilly and Klaus were already running down the hall in front of me. From behind, Jack’s footsteps boomed from the stairway. The sound of a blade unsheathing rang menacingly. My heart pounded, terrified by what I was about to see.

To call what Michael was standing over simply a corpse would be a gross understatement. What remained of the demon named David was a dry husk, barely recognizable as a once living thing. His previously moist, bluish-green flesh was now a deathly gray, shriveled to the point of hardly existing. A skeleton was plainly visible behind his parchment-like skin, which betrayed no sign of containing blood, even at what appeared to potentially be an open wound on his neck.

Klaus kneeled down to get a better look at the body. “What happened?” the bandit leader asked gravely.

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know. I came to get him so we can prepare for today and found him like this.”

Tilly crossed her arms, her face scrunched in thought. “Snow said he saw a Watcher the night he showed up. Any chance one of them could have done it?”

“What Watcher have you ever seen drain the blood from a person?” Jack sneered. “Watchers slaughter people; they don’t suck the life out of them.”

I stood in silence as my hosts discussed their dead friend; the friend that I murdered the night before. My heart beat intensely to the point I feared the others would somehow be able to see. How could I have done this? How could I have drank a person’s blood; someone I hypocritically thought of as a monster?

After a search of the castle for any assailants, the bandits took David’s corpse into the courtyard and burned it as a show of respect. I joined the search as well in an attempt to keep any suspicion off of myself. Thankfully, and somewhat to my surprise, I wasn’t accused of anything.

When the funeral rites concluded, everyone met in the main hall. The plans for the raids on the villages had been postponed to another day. The joy of the previous nights in the hall was no longer present. Instead, there was nothing but melancholy and confusion.

As Tilly slowly nursed her drink, she looked over at me. “You’re looking better, by the way.” She spoke in a way that didn’t really demonstrate any actual interest, but instead was meant to break the overbearing silence of the room.

My heart sped up again. With the chaos of the day, I hadn’t had a chance to even notice that my features returned to normal. Would this cause me to become suspect? Surely if that was the case someone would had said something already, right? I tried to speak as calmly as possible. “Feel better too,” I replied. “No idea why, but I won’t complain.”

“At least something good came from today,” Klaus said with a smile that hid a sense of grief.

When everyone finished eating, we went to our chambers. I didn’t eat anything, of course, not only because of my previous experiences, but because I didn’t have a hint of hunger. But how long would it be before my hunger returned? The only thing I found that satisfied me was the blood of another person, but after the previous night I never wanted to murder again. I decided I’d fight the urge to feed if it were to return, even if it killed me.

That night, I had a strange dream. I was a king, yet I was in shackles. All around me, my castle burned as smoke rose to the sky. An angry mob of peasants flanked me from both sides, hurling insults and stones. A man in armor led me through the crowd, dragging me by a chain attached to my manacles. Before I could see our destination though, I awoke.

#Demoniac #The Parasitic King #short story #creative writing #demons #fiction #fantasy

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 3)

The next morning greeted the castle with a chilled embrace. Gray clouds loomed low and heavy in the sky. A thin layer of frost coated every surface.

I was awoken by the pounding of footsteps outside of my chamber. The door flew open without a knock.

“Snow!” Tilly stood in the doorway holding what looked like a fruit. “Klaus and I took a walk along the path towards one of the nearby villages. Turns out there were a few lapis-apple trees along the way. Here, Klaus said you should try one of these.”

I struggled to sit up in bed. My body felt unbearably weak. Tilly was about to toss the fruit to me but stopped.

“Gods, what happened to you?!” The four armed demon ran over to the bed. She got uncomfortably close as she inspected me. “You look like absolute shit.”

I ignored what she said. I couldn’t focus. My stomach felt like it was being torn apart from hunger. At the same time, a delicious smell permeated the room, teasing the senses. I need to eat, my mind screamed.

I quickly snatched the fruit Tilly called a lapis-apple from her hand. It was a vibrant blue that would have undoubtedly shined in the light. I dug into the fruit like an animal, tearing the sapphire skin from the juicy bulk. I chewed loudly and unapologetically, leaving my lips sticky and wet. As my tongue danced underneath the butchered mush, it was greeted with a taste that could only be described as vile. I forced myself to swallow, desperate to overcome my hunger. As I did, my eyes went wide.

I shoved Tilly aside and vomited on the floor. My throat burned and tears stung my eyes. As mucusy saliva dripped from my mouth after the last of the bile escaped my body, I caught a look at my reflection in the nearby mirror. Tilly’s reaction upon seeing me made perfect sense. My eyes, which originally only had a hint of crimson around the black pupils, were now a deep, dark red. My flesh was wrinkled and damp with sweat. On my hands, my long and pointed fingernails were cracked and brittle. The world began to spin so I lied back down.

“I’ll...go get Klaus,” Tilly said with uncertainty in her voice. When she was gone, that savory aroma went with her.

The rest of the day passed in a murky haze. Klaus said he had never heard of a demon getting sick before and suggested just resting for a while. Him and the rest of his bandits spent the day looting the rest of the castle. From the sound of things, they took just about everything not nailed to the floor and were hoping to trade whatever they didn’t wish to keep for themselves. They spent the night much the same way they did previously with drinks and merry-making while I suffered in bed.

Eventually, their talks came to more serious matters, such as their plans to begin the raids on the nearby villages the next day. They also spoke of me, probably assuming I couldn’t hear.

“Did Snow come out at all?” asked Klaus.

“Not that I know of,” Tilly answered.

“Poor sod,” Michael said with a mouth full of something.

“I told you we should have killed him,” Jack growled in his familiar, hateful way. “Let’s do it now before he becomes too much of a liability.”

“I’m with Jack.” David this time. “He’s not our problem, boss. The man just walked in here. If we don’t want to kill im’ then we should at least send im’ on his way. We protect our own and ta hell with all the others.”

Klaus let out a loud sigh. “I hear ya. Believe me, I do. It just don’t feel right. Call me soft, but I feel as if we should help him out, at least until he’s on his feet. The fucker’s just arrived in Demoniac. It’d be like sending a lamb to the wolves. But look, I understand that this affects us all. Tilly. Michael. Thoughts?”

Michael answered first. “I say we keep him around. The fellow seems well enough, personality wise. If Snow was a prick then sure, buuut...”

“I don’t really care either way,” Tilly added. “I will say that I already manage to put up with you lot, so what’s one more bastard gonna hurt? As long as he stays out of my way, then we’re fine.”

“Alright then. We keep him around, at least for a bit. Hopefully whatever is fucking with him clears up, and who knows? Maybe we’ll have another member of this merry little group. And if something goes wrong, I take full responsibility and will deal with it myself. Understood?”

The bandits went to sleep soon after they were finished speaking of what to do with me. I lied in the darkness, losing track of everything. Time, reality, identity, it was all devoured by my all-consuming hunger. The delicious scent that taunted me during the day and the night before was now stronger than ever. I tried to resist it, convinced that it was simply my mind playing tricks on me. I couldn’t last, however. I got out of my bed as quick as I could and went out into the hall.

I was so dizzy, I could barely stand. The hall looked as if it stretched on forever. I took it one step at a time, certain that I would die here. I shut off all other senses and focused solely on the smell. The wobbly path disappeared and the cold air was sucked away. All that remained was that glorious aroma.

I found myself once again in the room David claimed as his own. He was snoring noisily in the darkness, unaware of anything. I let the scent wash over me, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. I knelt beside the fishy demon.

Eat, said a voice from within me. Was it my own? I wasn’t sure of anything any more. What did it want me to eat? There was nothing here. Just David.

Eat.

The sweet smell caressed my nostrils, tantalizing me with every sniff. A shudder ran through my body.

Eat.

A sudden desire gripped my heart, an answer to my question. I tried to fight it but I couldn’t resist. I was so hungry.

Eat.

I licked my lips as I closed in on David. I sank my fangs deep into his exposed neck, sending a wave of delicious blood into my mouth, and sealing my fate in the process. He awoke immediately, of course, but he didn’t struggle. My bite had somehow paralyzed him. His face was frozen in an expression of unfathomable fear, unable to fight off the creature feeding on him in the night.

The thick red liquid gushed like a torrent down my throat. I gulped it all down in a state of complete bliss. The hunger pains dissipated after a while, but that wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I gorged myself on the fish’s blood, not stopping until I was completely full.

The next morning I awoke in my bed, unsure of when I fell asleep. The previous night was a blur. None of it mattered to me, though. The only thing important to me at the moment was that, to my surprise, my hunger had disappeared. I leapt from my bed with a smile on my face. That happiness was short lived, however.

A shout filled with horror tore through the air from outside my chamber door. “David’s dead!” the voice cried.

At that moment, all the joy I felt drained completely from my body. My previous night had returned to my memory. I rushed to David’s chamber.

#Demoniac #The Parasitic King #short story #writing #creative writing #fiction #demons

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 2)

The four-armed girl led me up a set of stairs. “We already searched the first floor, but we didn’t touch the second yet. Looks like you get first grabs.” She motioned to a corridor lined with doors. “Pick a room and go mad.”

I chose a bed chamber on the right side. Inside, a soft red carpet led to a silk canopy obscured bed. A grand mirror stood in the corner of the room and a number of paintings of noble looking people lined the walls. I noticed a regal looking armoire near the bed and searched inside.

To my surprise, there was only one outfit within.

“Quite the kingly raiment,” Tilly remarked.

I grabbed the clothes and looked expectantly at the woman. After a moment of awkward silence, she crossed her arms and smirked. “Trust me, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

I swallowed my embarrassment and got changed in front of Tilly. When I took my pants off she smiled mockingly. “Well, I can understand your hesitation now. I can’t say I’m impressed.”

The king’s clothing, to my surprise, fit perfectly. As I gazed at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but feel as if I did this before.

When I was finished, we returned to the main hall. The hearth burned brilliantly as it fended off the cold seeping in from outside. The group of demons was still seated at the benches, reveling the night away. A hooded monster with four eyes and insect-like mandibles was betting the fat monster, who I deduced was named Klaus, that he couldn’t down two mugs of whatever they were drinking at the same time. Klaus won.

As he basked in his victory, Klaus noticed me standing in my new clothes. “Well, well, well. I didn’t know we were going to have royalty grace us with their presence.” The rest of the group laughed. “So what should we call you, Your Grace? I take it your memory hasn’t returned yet.”

I tried to remember my name. It turns out Klaus was correct. I couldn’t recall anything from before I arrived in Demoniac. “Now that you mention it…” I said.

Klaus nodded. “Yep, yep, say no more. Give it some time, you’ll remember eventually. In the meantime, you need to be called something.”

“How about ‘King Snow’?” Tilly suggested.

“‘Snow’?” I asked.

“That hair of yours. It’s the whitest thing I’ve ever seen. Not to mention you’re as pale as a ghost.” Tilly shrugged. “I think it fits.”

I actually kind of liked the suggestion. Of course, it helped that I didn’t have any ideas of my own to add to the mix. I had more important things on my mind than a name. “Works for me,” I replied.

“Well, if there’s no complaints then Snow it is.” Klaus motioned to a seat on the bench across from him. “Take a load off, Your Grace. Help yourself to some grub. Don’t worry, it’s not literal grub. Jack, pour our new friend a drink.”

Jack grabbed an empty mug and poured a golden liquid from a flagon. He handed it to me with an expression that showed nothing but venom. The demon with the mandibles passed me a plate covered with a meat I didn’t recognize. I didn’t realize that I was hungry until the food was sitting right in front of me. I grabbed a hunk of it with my bare hands due to a lack of utensils. I immediately felt bile creep up my gullet after I swallowed. I reached desperately for my mug of unknown Demoniac alcohol to try and wash out the taste. I began to retch and it took all I had not to vomit.

Klaus looked on in curiosity. “Huh. Never saw anyone react to cliff grazer meat and Destrolus Whiskey like that before. Guess everyone has their tastes.”

I decided against tasting any more of the local cuisine and instead joined in on the conversation with my hosts. There were five of them in all: Klaus, Tilly, Jack, Michael, the hooded one with the mandibles, and David, a demon with tentacles for arms and slimy fish-esque skin. I discovered that they were a group of bandits who recently ambushed a caravan of traveling merchants and were taking shelter in this castle. They were planning on making the castle their hideout, at least for a while, due to the luxurious nature of it, and its seclusion. The bandits also spoke of nearby villages just outside of the forest that could be easy targets.

“Honestly, if you hadn’t been a new arrival, I’d have let Jack slit your throat. Turns out poverty isn’t inherently bad,” Klaus informed me without a hint of remorse.

I wasn’t too bothered being in the company of bandits. I was new to this world and they were willing to help me settle in. They seemed like good enough people, as far as monster bandits go. Who was I to judge how they chose to survive in this land I knew nothing about?

During a lull in conversation, I asked about the cloaked figure I followed to the castle after it occurred to me that I never found him.

“Sounds like a Watcher,” David answered. “Don’t bother them and they won’t bother you. They just do their own thing.”

As the night winded down, Michael decided to entertain us with horror stories.

“Scary stories?” Tilly questioned. “How childish are you?”

A wry smile formed on Michael’s face. “Why, Tilly, you aren’t afraid, are you?”

The fierce Jack let out a small chuckle as he added more wood to the hearth. Tilly blushed. “Of course not! I just think we’re all beyond the point of being scared of stories. We’re demons, for fuck’s sake!”

Klaus downed another mug of Destrolus Whiskey. A little missed his mouth and dripped down his chins. “Don’t listen to her, Michael, scare the fuckin’ pants off us.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Well, if you insist.” He poured himself another cup of drink. “As most of you know; sorry, Snow.” I waved him off, not bothered by being out of the loop. “As most of you know, before I joined this little band here, I was a dock worker at Calamity Harbor. One of my friends there told me how he used to travel with a group of treasure hunters. One day they found themselves exploring this abandoned estate. Real nice place apparently, filled to the brim with valuables, yet for some reason untouched. That should have been their first hint that something was wrong. Anyway, they all start grabbing anything they could get their grubby hands on well into the night. My friend, with a sack full of loot, decides it’s time to find the others. He tries calling out to them. No answer. He’s searching this house from top to bottom and there’s no sign of anybody anywhere. That is, until he spots a trail of blood.”

“The fool follows the trail and at the end of it he finds a beast with glowing eyes and a body that seemed ethereal. Just so you know, ethereal means ghostly, David, you stupid bastard,” Michael jibed while taking a swig of whiskey.

“I know what ethereal means, you whoreson!” David hissed.

The group laughed as Michael continued his tale.

“The monster was crouched on a pile of slaughtered corpses; the remains of his companions. In its claws it grasped another of his friends, sliced up and bent, but still breathing. As it held the broken man, the creature spoke. ‘You enter my home uninvited, steal my things’ it said,  ‘now you’ll pay the price!’ When my friend’s companion noticed him standing nearby, he yelled out to him. ‘Henry!’ he called out as loudly as his ravaged body would allow. Henry was my friend’s name, if you couldn’t figure that one out. Again, David, looking at you.”

David opened his mouth to retort but was quieted by a nudge from Tilly.

“‘Run, Henry!’ the man ordered. That was all he could say before the monster opened its gaping maw and dug into the neck of its prey. Henry turned and ran, trying his best to ignore the ghastly screams coming from behind him. He managed to escape the estate, but dropped all of his loot in his panicked flight. From that day on, he turned his back on the treasure hunting life. He may have made it out alive, but he said to this day he still sees that monster every time he closes his eyes.”

A thick silence fell on our group. The hearth’s flame crackled, sending the occasional spark floating down to the stone floor. On the throne at the top of the hall, a once beautifully golden seat now tarnished with age and disregard, a black bird reminiscent to a crow stood on the chair’s back. It must have flown in from one of the various holes in the ceiling when no one was looking.

“...That’s it?” Tilly asked.

“That’s it,” replied Michael with a grin.

“...I hate you.”

Everyone went to bed soon after Michael’s tale. I decided to sleep in the chamber where I found my clothing. The canopy obscured bed was made of feathers, making it unbelievably soft. The blankets expertly fought off the cold seeping through the crumbling walls. Unfortunately, these royal accommodations could not bring on an easy sleep.

Hunger pierced my stomach like arrows. I tossed and turned as it growled as if it was an angry beast. I wasn’t sure what to do. From the sound of it, my new companions only had that terrible cliff grazer meat for food and that wasn’t an option. There would be no way I could keep that down. A glimmer of hope appeared during the middle of the night however,  when I caught a whiff of something delicious; more delicious than I could have possibly wished for. I stumbled through the darkness as I followed the scent.

The aroma led me to the room where David slept. I crept closer, trying to see if I could find its source. I licked my lips in anticipation as the smell became stronger. In the end, I came up empty handed. The trail ended at David. Confused and defeated, I slunk silently back to my bed, gripping my stomach as it grumbled in disappointment. I couldn’t say when or how I fell asleep, but I managed it.

#Demoniac #The Parasitic King #writing #fantasy #short story

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 1)

Note: This week’s story was becoming much longer than I was anticipating so I’ve decided to split it up. I was already feeling as if the previous short stories were a bit too long for a simple blog post so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to try breaking one up into parts. Let me know what you guys think. I haven’t decided yet if the next part will be next week’s post or if I’ll just put it up at some point this week. We’ll see.

The castle’s main hall was cold and silent. An icy breeze whistled through empty corridors, waving the torn banners of unknown origin that hung miserably on the walls. The great hearth, that at one point had burned so brilliantly, was now home to nothing but spent ashes. The long, wooden tables with their benches that sat hundreds were covered in a manic assortment of dirty dishes and mugs. Black birds which had flown in from holes in the ceiling and walls picked determinedly at whatever scraps of food remained. In the dusty corners of the room, filthy rodents scurried noiselessly amongst each other. And witness to this melancholic scene, sitting at the top of the hall on a throne of tarnished gold, was the ruler of this dreary castle: The Parasitic King.

The night of my arrival in Demoniac, I stumbled blindly through a thick forest of grotesque, gargantuan trees. All around me I could hear whispers that spoke of tales of death and despair that froze my heart. I picked up speed, desperately trying to get away. In my haste, my foot got caught on a large root that managed to burrow out of the ground. I fell abruptly onto the hard, leaf covered ground. Overhead, a winged shadow soared against the dismal sky. It screeched and cackled as it swooped down towards me.

I scrambled to my feet and ran as fast as I could, not sure where I was going or what was chasing me. I eventually came across a massive, hollowed out log and decided to catch my breath inside.

“You are nothing but entertainment for the gods,” mocked the whispers.

“You are forsaken.”

“You’ll die alone in a pool of blood.”

“You gained from their suffering.”

I clasped my hands over my ears and screamed. “STOP!” I yelled, setting my already dry throat aflame in pain. The forest tittered at my plea.

When I was just about certain that I would meet my demise in this place of talking trees, I caught a glimpse of something in the distance. In the pale moonlight, a figure cloaked completely in black was walking nonchalantly through the haze. I recognized it immediately. The figure was the same one that was on the ship that brought me to this place.

In my confused desperation, I called out to the cloaked person. No response. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to follow the figure. No matter how fast I ran, I could never quite catch up. Once in a while, I would lose sight of the figure, only for it to reappear moments later further ahead. I continued to call out but proceeded to be ignored.

After an eternity of breathless chasing, I emerged from the dark forest. The figure was nowhere to be found however. Instead, a ruined castle loomed mesmerizingly in the moonlight upon a cliff overlooking the ocean. A strange sense of familiarity washed over me as I gazed at its gray stone walls. Some unexplainable force seemed to draw me to that fortress, so with a peculiar mix of apprehension and calm in my heart, I followed the path leading to the castle gate.

Abandoned buildings were everywhere the eye could see inside the castle walls. The empty horse stalls of the stable were covered in filthy straw. The blacksmith’s forge was cold with no sign of use in ages. The door to the grain silo swung squeakily on its hinges, revealing an interior as barren as a desert.

As I became confident in my solitude, a sound snapped me to attention. From the largest building, the main hall, the sweet melody of laughter floated welcomingly upon the night air. I excitedly climbed the steps leading to the hall. Voices became clearer and clearer the closer I came to the grand metal doors leading inside. Joyful voices, speaking of good times. The paralyzing fear I felt moments before melted away. I pushed on the doors with all my might.

Then the fear returned after seeing what awaited me inside. Five monsters, all with vaguely human features, sat at the end of a long bench. They were eating food I didn’t recognize with no regard for manners or cleanliness. Whatever conversation they were having was cut short once the saw me in the doorway. I swallowed hard.

Before I could even react, one of the creatures got to his feet and rushed towards me. He had the horns of a devil and the snout of a pig. In a flash, he drew a longsword from a scabbard at his waist and pointed it at my neck. The blade was elegantly made and had a faint red glow.

“You have five fucking seconds to explain why I shouldn’t slit your damn throat,” the monster ordered. My voice eluded me.

“Calm down, Jack,” said another monster sitting at the bench. He was fat with oozing sores on his body. He had two thick tusks protruding from his mouth. “The man’s obviously fresh off the tub. Look, he’s still wearing his sailor’s rags.”

“I swear, ever since you found that fancy sword, you’ve been looking for excuses to wave it around,” added a third monster. This one was a female with four arms, two antennas, and glossy black eyes. She sat with both pairs of arms crossed and her feet on the table.

“C’mere, fresh meat, it’s cold outside and you could probably use a rest,” the fat one said.

The creature known as Jack lowered his glowing sword with a sneer. He kept his eyes on me as he sheathed his blade.

“Well, what are you waiting for,” the fat monster asked, noting my refusal to move. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He scratched one of his many chins. “Wait. Don’t tell me you don’t know what we are yet. What you are.” I looked at him, confused. He looked over at the female creature. “Tilly, you still got that hand mirror you found here?”

The woman nodded and dug around in a bag hung over her shoulder. She pulled out a gold mirror inlaid with gems. She handed it over to me with a grin. What I saw in the reflection was someone I didn’t recognize.

My hair was long and white. My flesh was pale as a corpse and my eyes had a hint of bloody crimson engulfing onyx. Two sharp fangs hung down from towards the front of my mouth. In my surprise, I dropped the mirror. Tilly deftly snatched it before it hit the ground.

“W-What is going on?” I asked, my voice weak. I looked down and saw that my hands, which in the excitement of the night I failed to comprehend had long, pointed nails, shook violently.

“Y’see,” answered the fat monster as he chewed some food, “everyone in this room, including you, are demons. We died and were reborn in this world known as Demoniac as beasts.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand…”

The blob-like monster laughed. “Neither do I, really. It’s just something you gotta accept and go with it.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tilly, you done eating? Why don’t you take our new friend here and find him some clothes. I’m sure there’s something around here. I remember those rags being itchy as sin.”

#Demoniac #The Parasitic King #short story #fantasy #writing

[theantthatwrites]

Searching for the Sun (poem)

No matter how hard I try

I can never seem to find the sun.

It is a mystery to me,

One that I’m afraid I’ll never solve.

Some find it so easily,

Seeming to stumble upon it as if by accident.

They laugh and love,

Smile and sing.

They bask in its warm embrace

And dance beneath its rays.

It all comes so natural to them it seems.

But not for me.

I am told that the sun is there

I just need to search for it.

If that is the way of things,

Then why do I still find myself in the dark?

I clamber ungracefully through the night sky,

Searching endlessly for a mere glimpse

Of what perpetually evades me.

Yet my hunt is always fruitless.

Instead, I become mired deep in shadow,

Strangled by a thick and unforgiving fog.

I know the sun is out there,

There’s evidence of it all around after all.

I just don’t believe I am meant to find it.

Or perhaps, deep down, I no longer even want to find it.

A thought occurs to me:

What if the night sky has become my identity?

What if the shadow is now one with my very being?

To find the sun would mean losing myself.

Is it worth it then?

Would finding the light be worth giving up who I am?

#poetry #free form #writing

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: A Girl and Her Wolf

“Hold still!” I demanded of the injured beast in front of me. His fur was hot to the touch, as it always was.

I studied the quill impaled into the side of my companion; a parting gift from one of the giant porcupine-like creatures known to frequenters of the Razor Hills as a spikehog. We were attacked by one as we traversed the rising and falling land covered with sharp grass. My friend successfully killed the animal, but not without injury. As the spikehog died, it shot off a barrage of spines, one of which found home in my companion’s left side.

I grabbed the long spike and pulled. My friend growled as pain stabbed through him. If this was back when we first met, I might have been afraid. But now, after two months of getting to know each other, I knew there was nothing to fear. He would never harm me.

“Come on, are you the dreaded Burning Wolf, or a mewling pup?” I teased as my friend began to whimper. He immediately toughened up at the provocation, although I still could hear the occasional stifled cry. It took all I had not to laugh.

With the quill removed, I got to work healing the wound. I held my hands an inch above the bloody hole and focused my thoughts. As I felt the hot steam rising from the boiling blood, my palms began to emit a green glow. Moments later, the wound was completely healed. It turns out being a demon does have a few benefits.

Unfortunately, my powers came at a cost. Using them was incredibly exhausting so I’d often need a long rest afterwards. It was getting late anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal this time.

“Time to lie down, Hairy. That’s enough walking for one day.” Hairy was my nickname for the Burning Wolf. Admittedly, coming up with names wasn’t something I was particularly good at, but he obviously couldn’t tell me his actual name, and I wasn’t going to constantly be saying “Burning Wolf” over and over. Oh well, it got the job done and he understood when I was speaking to him.

We sat together as we did every night; his arms cradling me, engulfing me in his warmth. It eliminated the need for a campfire, which was a dangerous thing in Demoniac. You never knew what the flames might alert at night. When Hairy and I were nice and snug, I began to sing. Nobody would ever expect this of the Burning Wolf, but he was fond of song. I first discovered this fact one night when we started traveling together. He was still wary of me and would often keep his distance. I didn’t blame him, for I did the same. In any case, my love of singing overcame any apprehension and I sang as I would have if I was all alone. To my surprise, Hairy came over to where I sat and listened quietly. When I tried to stop, he urged me on with a nudge. So I continued, long into the night. I think that was when our friendship really began to flourish.

I’d sing whatever song I could remember from my time in the living world. I’d need to adjust some things to account for the change of language into what was widely known as Demonish, but it always worked well enough. This night, I sang a song about a girl named Alice who had a penchant for mushrooms and chasing white rabbits.

The next morning, we continued our journey. Past the Razor Hills was Jonah’s Fall, one of the more densely populated, and relatively peaceful, areas of Demoniac. I had no clue who Jonah was, and I doubted if anyone currently living in the area named after him knew either. Hairy and I followed the road winding through the gentle slopes, a welcome change from the previous day’s scenery.

We passed numerous other travelers along the way, all of which eyed Hairy with fear and disgust. I couldn’t blame them. Up until recently, he was a vicious predator who killed without remorse. During our first days together, he’d go out and kill anyone unlucky enough to cross our path. I’d cry out and try to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. All of them were torn to shreds, or burned away into ash. Those days I wouldn’t say a word to him afterwards. I contemplated abandoning him, but I knew he could be changed. I eventually had enough of his slaughter and placed myself in front of his target. I pleaded with tears in my eyes for him to stop, not caring what might happen to me.

“Stop!” I cried out. “This isn’t right! There are enough monsters out there, you don’t need to be one as well!”

Hairy, burning with rage, growled at me. I swallowed hard but never broke eye contact. I could see the intelligence behind those eyes, desperately trying to overcome the beast; that same intelligence mixed with sorrow I saw when he approached me in the Weeping Swamp after saving me from those creeps. Intellect ended up winning. The Burning Wolf stood down, and the innocent man was spared. From that point on, Hairy never attacked another innocent person.

Nowadays, his rage is solely directed at those who wish us harm. Unfortunately, this being Demoniac, that category isn’t small, especially since I’m a woman. There are countless, disgusting brutes here who would do anything to get their hands on a woman. Most stay away now that I have the Burning Wolf watching over me, but once in a while, one is foolish or desperate enough to try something. Thankfully, I’ve been spared so far, but I’ve heard stories from others that often keep me up at night.

It wasn’t long before we reached our destination: a coastal city within Jonah’s Fall known as Calamity Harbor. The city was large, by Demoniac’s standards. It started as a small fishing village built on the ruins of some long forgotten civilization, but its location on the Blood Ocean and being nearby other populated villages allowed it to flourish. Traders and other travelers swarmed it, planting their roots. The crumbled, cream colored stone buildings were eventually rebuilt, reimagined by a new society. The muddy roads were paved and made easily traversable. It became an island of sanity in a sea of madness.

Hairy and I walked through the city gates. The entrance was flanked by two stone statues depicting a couple of half fish, half man looking creatures. Demons of all shapes and sizes walked the streets. Some were grotesque monsters, others took on a more human appearance. They all looked at Hairy with apprehension and disdain. Word may have gotten to Calamity Harbor that the Burning Wolf was a changed person, but that didn’t take away the memories.

We made it to the market where numerous traders had set up stalls. Normally, one would hear nothing but merchants hawking their wares at any passerby who might listen. Today was different, however. In the middle of the market, a crowd was gathered. Them, along with the salesmen sitting at their stalls, listened intently to the figure floating above the ground, screaming to the heavens.

“Listen, sinners, for your time of redemption is nigh!” he yelled. The crazed preacher’s demonic form was that of an angel. His white, feathered wings stood out prominently for all to see, stirring the air around them. “God has sentenced you all to an eternity in this hell we know as Demoniac! But it doesn’t have to be this way! Our God is a merciful one, and has sent me, one of his most devoted children, to this wretched place to set you on the right path! To give you another chance at paradise!”

The preacher only mentioned a singular god, which struck me as odd. When referring to whatever higher power might be out there, it was generally accepted in Demoniac that there were multiple gods, not just one. At least, that’s what the images found in ruins around the land led people to believe.

“Demoniac is your punishment for sins committed in life,” the preacher continued. “but it is also a trial. One to prove you have learned from your past mistakes. And if you succeed, all will be forgiven and you will be allowed to fly this prison!”

Murmurs permeated throughout the crowd. The preacher elaborated.

“Our gracious God spoke to me. Do you know what he said? He told me that the people of Demoniac needed guidance. That they let Chaos rule in favor of Order. He asked if I would sacrifice myself, give up my place in eternal paradise, to redeem the sinners! To show them the way of Order, where it’s not every sinner for himself, preying upon the weak! So follow me, brothers and sisters! Follow me and I shall show you the way to perpetual peace, in the name of God!”

Something about the crazed preacher’s words put me on edge. Hairy must have felt the same, for he began to emit a low growl, baring his fangs.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said. “We’re almost at Coalbreath’s.”

As Hairy and I walked past the preacher, I felt his unsettling, green eyes focused on me, his greasy, gray hair blowing in the wind.

Coalbreath’s Emporium stood on the harbor, making it easily accessible to any traders who fancied sea travel. Hairy and I stood outside of the cracked, cream colored building. Over the wooden door was a sign that said the store name, along with a crude drawing depicting a lizard clinging to a gem.

“Wait out here for a bit, I won’t be long,” I said to my companion, knowing his massive size forbid him from entering the store. Hairy obeyed and took a seat on the ground at the foot of the steps leading to the entrance.

I opened the front door, causing the chime hung above to jingle. A familiar, musty smell immediately greeted my nostrils. Coalbreath’s Emporium was a store that sold anything and everything. Wanted some herbs? All you needed to do was decide if you wanted something that’d cure or poison. Weapons? Do you want to cut someone into ribbons, or smash their bones to dust? Coalbreath sold food, clothing, tools; anything that could be traded he had.

I spotted the old lizard behind the front counter, carefully inspecting a gem of some kind. His long, slender tongue was licking his green lips absentmindedly. He never even noticed I entered.

“Got something good?” I inquired.

Coalbreath jumped, not expecting the sudden break in silence.

“Erin!” he exclaimed, “I was wondering when you’d be back. How’ve you been, little Nymph?”

Nymph was a nickname Coalbreath gave me due to my strange eyes, pointed ears, and healing abilities. I kinda liked it. It made me feel like I was more than simply Erin the Demon.

“I can’t complain,” I answered.

Coalbreath narrowed his eyes. “You still have that wolf following you around?”

I nodded. “Yep. He’s outside, as a matter of fact.”

“He, uh, giving you any problems?”

I shook my head. “Not at all! Quite the opposite, in fact. I don’t know how I got by without him.”

Coalbreath let out a sigh of relief and shrugged. “Well, as long as you’re safe. I worry about you, girl. It’s a tough world out there.” The lizard cleared off a spot on the counter. “Now, let’s see what you have for me.”

I turned my satchel upside down and let its contents spill out. He inspected each piece one by one; a plant here, a crystal there, and some sturdy animal parts for good measure.

“You’ve sure been getting around, haven’t you?” Coalbreath remarked. “This flower only blooms in the Weeping Swamp. And these mushrooms, you found these in a cave in Maiden’s Harp, didn’t you?”

I nodded in triumph, my hands on my hips. “They were a bit tricky. The screamer bats that feed on them don’t like to share. Hairy kept them away, though.”

“Hairy?”

“Oh, the Burning Wolf.”

“You gave him a name?”

I blushed. “The Burning Wolf felt too impersonal.”

Coalbreath smiled. His grin was a bit disturbing to me when I first met him, but I eventually got used to it after all I’ve seen in Demoniac. Now it was actually comforting to me.

“So what do you want to do with this stuff, little Nymph?” he asked. “You want coin or trade?”

“Coin, please.”

In Demoniac, while there wasn’t much in the way of government or law, a monetary system was at some point developed for simplicity’s sake. The currency was a simple, square metal coin with a hole cut out in the middle, known as a lunaire. It was named after the demon who first thought of the currency, Matthew the Lunar Knight. People either used lunaires, or simply traded whatever goods they had for what they needed.

After I made the transaction, I heard a commotion coming from outside. Screams and yells from multiple people were mixed with something much worse: growls. I ran as fast as I could outside.

At the foot of Coalbreath’s Emporium, a crowd of demons had gathered around Hairy. Their faces were twisted in hate. Many were gripping stones in their hands, claws, tentacles, or whatever other equivalent they had. I noticed there were already a number at Hairy’s feet.

“You killed Angela, you son of a bitch!” one man cried out. “She did nothing to you, you freakish monster!”

I tried to stop the man, but I wasn’t quick enough. The fool threw the stone he was holding, and my heart stopped. Hairy had had enough abuse for one day.

The rock collided with Hairy’s eye, causing him to look away for a moment. The mob cheered and bellowed, a cacophony that pierced my heart. Please, don’t, I said to myself. Hairy shook off the pain and glared at the crowd. He bared his fangs and roared, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I realized he was just trying to scare the mob off. If he wanted to hurt them, he would have already been aflame. Unfortunately, the crowd wasn’t backing down.

I jumped down the stone steps and stumbled my way between Hairy and the mob.

“The only monsters I see here,” I stammered, “are you people!” I walked towards the man who threw the rock. “You think you’re all so big, ganging up on someone like this! Let me tell you something: this isn’t the same Burning Wolf that you hate so much! He’s changed!”

The man laughed. “Changed? He still looks like a giant beast to me. Look at him! He’s just dying to attack us, but he knows he can’t take us all!”

I couldn’t help but guffaw at the absurdity. “Do you really think that? I know the Burning Wolf better than any of you. Hell, he hasn’t even ignited his fur! If he wanted you dead, you would already be a burnt pile on the ground. But do you know why you’re not? Because he’s learned to control himself.”

I calmed my voice a bit. “Look, I know the Burning Wolf has done terrible things in the past, but who among us hasn’t? At least he’s trying to change himself for the better. I’ve seen with my own eyes just how far he’s come. I know if he could, he would undo whatever harm he’s brought you.”

I quickly scanned the mob but, judging by the looks on their faces, they weren’t believing me. I looked back at Hairy. When I did, I saw a hint of sadness in his eyes. My heart twisted at the sight.

“What the hell’s going on out here?” Walking down the stairs from the Emporium was Coalbreath. “I don’t give a shit what you people do, as long as it’s not in front of my shop. This is a place of business, Gods above! You’re ruining my peaceful sales environment!”

The rock throwing man spoke up. “We’re doing a public service! This beast is a blight on our society!”

Coalbreath spat. “Oh, shut it, Blaine! You’re more full of shit than an asshole. Petty vengeance is all you’re after, you child. Don’t try to pretty it up with a facade of justice.”

The man curled his fist and swung at the lizard. “Why you little-”

Coalbreath dodged the blow and answered with one of his own. Unlike the antagonizer however, his punch found its mark. The man fell to the ground, clutching his head.

“Now as for the rest of you,” Coalbreath roared, “get the hell away from my shop or you’ll end up like poor Blaine here!”

The crowd dispersed in a flash, people heading every direction. I walked up to Coalbreath, who was shaking his hand in pain.

“Want me to patch that up for you?”

The old lizard shook his head. “Nah, this is nothing. Don’t trouble yourself.”

I hugged the owner of the Emporium. I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. “Thank you, Coalbreath.”

“Don’t mention it, little Nymph. Just try to visit more often, ya hear?” He broke free of my grasp and walked towards Hairy. “And you, Hairy, make sure no one harms this girl, alright? If anyone does, you’ll need to answer to me.”

Hairy snorted in understanding. Coalbreath crossed his arms and smiled that same hideous yet comforting smile I’ve grown to love.

“You two’ll be fine,” Coalbreath said.

I said my goodbyes and left towards the gate of Calamity Harbor with Hairy. As I did, I couldn’t help but notice the crazed preacher from earlier standing beneath an awning nearby Coalbreath’s Emporium. I didn’t realize it before, but he must have watched the whole mob situation. I made eye contact with him and as I did, a disturbing smile touched the sides of his cracked lips.

#Demoniac #Burning Wolf #Erin #short story #writing #demons #fantasy

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Voyage (short story)

Note: Two short stories in a row?!?! And it’s another “Demoniac”?!?! Crazy! Don’t get too excited, though. Some might be disappointed since this one isn’t about Wolf. I want it to be clear that Wolf isn’t the main character of “Demoniac”, rather he is the protagonist of the short stories which follow him. I want Demoniac to be the setting for a bunch of different short stories, all of which having their own protagonist. So while I do plan on having Wolf’s story continue, it won’t in every single “Demoniac” post. Does that make sense? I hope it does. Anyway, today’s short story gives more insight into how someone reaches Demoniac. Yay!

A blood red ocean. That is how all evil souls, such as myself, reach their new home of Demoniac. Sailing on a massive, decrepit ship upon a crimson sea.

On the deck of the vessel were rows of benches with an aisle separating them to two sides down the middle. Each bench sat roughly ten people, and there were eight benches to a side. I sat on the end of one of the starboard benches, next to the water. Overhead, strange, scaled birds cawed as they rode the chill ocean breeze. In the distance on the horizon, I could just barely make out the landmass I would eventually spend my new life on.

The ship creaked and moaned as the waves tossed it about like a toy. The sails, terribly ripped, yet somehow still functional, billowed wildly in the wind. Back towards the stern, a cracked, unmanned wheel mysteriously steered the vessel towards its destination. In fact, there was nobody on the ship who could be considered its crew, aside from a figure cloaked completely in black standing at the bow.

Everyone else on the ship, including myself, was dressed in plain, brown rags that made us look like prisoners. That was the only thing that connected each of us, appearance wise. Packed shoulder to shoulder on the benches, we came from all sorts of walks of life. Some were men, some were women; some old, others young. The most peculiar, and by far the youngest, of all of us was a little blonde haired girl who couldn’t have been any older than nine. I tried desperately to remember how I found myself in such a dreadful situation, yet no memory sprung to mind. In fact, I couldn’t even remember my own name.

Fear gripped my heart in an unrelenting vice. I nudged the person next to me, a dark skinned, middle-aged man, and tried to ask him if he had any recollection of how he got here. I couldn’t recognize the words that erupted from my mouth, for I had never in my life heard them before this moment, yet could completely understand their meaning. This unwelcome enlightenment must have also been felt by my neighbor, for his eyes went wide, as did mine. He shook his head and informed me, in that same paradoxically unknown yet known language, that he too was struggling with a bout of amnesia. Tears welled up in his eyes and he hid his face in the palms of his dry, hairy hands.

What the hell is going on, I thought to myself as I looked over the side of the boat. In the water, odd, spiked fins sprouted from the surface. Half a dozen of them kept pace with the ship, cutting the water like a knife through flesh. One of the scaled birds squawked madly, causing me to look up. As I did, one of the blade-like fins burst from the waves and revealed a menacing looking fish with scales of yellow and protruding razor teeth flying through the air. It effortlessly grabbed the sea bird with its grotesque fangs and dragged it beneath the crimson depths. The rest of the avian lifeforms took up the maddening chorus of their deceased brother and scattered. The aquatic predators took to the hunt, leaving the ship behind. My body shuddered.

The unrest was palpable amongst the passengers. Scared and confused mutters bounced from bench to bench. I just kept silent and listened, trying to make sense of it all. From what I could gather, not a single person knew who they were, where they came from, or where we were all headed.

What seemed like an eternity passed. The land on the horizon began to take on a more observable form. Gargantuan trees with gray trunks towered upon crooked hills, reaching up to the blazing orange sky above. Twisting rivers spiraled hypnotically, some of which originated from the ocean. I could also see a rocky shore with stones that seemed to move. On further inspection, the stones were actually giant crabs, feasting on the corpses of some unidentifiable creatures.

My fellow passengers were beginning to reach their limit. One, unable to take the overbearing anxiety, jumped overboard. When he splashed in the waves, the spiked fins from earlier emerged from the water once again and tore him to shreds. I nearly vomited as his limbs were ripped from his body and his agonizing screams washed away into unsettling silence. Others didn’t show quite as much intestinal fortitude, retching up the contents of their stomachs. Judging by the smell, I believed some may have even soiled themselves. I sometimes wonder if they have gotten any stronger after later experiencing the horrors of Demoniac. When the feeding frenzy was finished, a strange light flew into the air and headed towards the nearby land. At the time, I believed this to just be some curious characteristic of the carnivorous fish.

The ship was now a chaotic spectacle. People began screaming and crying. Meaningless fights broke out. It was at this point that someone finally got the idea to question the figure cloaked in black, still standing at the bow, never having said a word. I say question, but it was more of an interrogation.

The man was similar to an ogre, in both size and demeanor. He had a completely shaved head and sunken eyes. His arms and legs were tree trunks, and his torso was like a barrel.

“Hey, you in the black,” he barked, “you’ve been awfully quiet. Something tells me you have an idea what’s goin’ on here. Why don’tcha fill in the rest of us?”

The figure ignored him. It remained standing motionless at the front of the ship, looking out at the water.

The man got up from his seat. He marched towards the bow, although his lack of sea legs made his stride much less menacing as he stumbled and lost his balance a few times.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” he continued, “what the hell are we all doin’ here?”

The figure kept up its stoic silence as the man stood behind it. The man grimaced as he looked down at the figure, which was at least a full foot shorter.

“Listen, you lil’ shit, I don’t like to be ignored. Fucking look at me as I’m talking to you!”

The man grabbed the figure by the shoulder and spun it around. Afterwards, he stepped back, shocked at what he saw. Or more so, what he didn’t see. For inside the figure’s hood, where there should have been a head and face, there was nothing. No eyes, nose, or mouth; no flesh of any kind. There was only an abyssal blackness; an all consuming darkness that seemed to take hold of your soul. This is what all Watchers, as I would later learn they were called, looked like. They were the guardians of Demoniac, and I was about to witness first hand what they were capable of.

The man, his anger now completely replaced by fear, began to mutter something unintelligible. If it was an apology, it didn’t have its desired effect. In a flash, faster than the eye can see, the Watcher swung its arm multiple times, unleashing a barrage of shadowy slices. Then, as if nothing ever happened, the cloaked figure returned to its previous position.

The passengers of this rickety ship gawked at the large man as he violently shook in place. Aside from the ferocious quivering, he seemed fine. Then, in the blink of an eye, countless red cuts manifested on his body, and each one gushed a torrent of blood. The man fell in a heap on the ground.

Some people screamed in horror at the sight, others looked away in disgust. I merely looked on, my eyes glazed over, not knowing what to do or how to feel. Nothing made sense. I’d later wonder if the man was given a punishment, or perhaps shown a mercy; spared from a life in Demoniac. Overhead, an identical type of light as from earlier flew towards the same direction as before, this time originating from the fresh pile of gore on our ship.

The rest of the voyage was made in complete silence. Nobody dared make a sound after what they witnessed. Instead of questioning our reality, we quietly accepted our fates. It wasn’t long before we reached the landmass that loomed for so long on the horizon. We approached a dock on the rocky shore I saw from the ocean. From this distance, I got a good view of the stone-like crabs. They were hideous monstrosities with claws the size of my head. Stuck to their rocky shells was seaweed covered in brine. The creatures made a strange clicking sound that made my skin crawl. They looked hungrily at the hulking mass invading their hunting grounds, as if they knew what it carried.

When we reached the dock, the ship abruptly stopped. As it did, everything went black. I then awoke an unknown amount of time later, alone next to a river. I crawled to the water, digging my fingers into the moist ground. As my blurred, weary vision recovered, I saw in the reflection that my days as a human were over, and my life as a demon was just beginning. I was now a resident of Demoniac.

#Demoniac #Voyage #short story #fantasy #writing

[theantthatwrites]

Demoniac: The Burning Wolf (short story)

Note: So this week’s story is a bit different. I want it to serve as an introduction to a setting that I'm hoping to have multiple stories take place in. If you want more, then let me know. If not, then I’ll just scrap the idea and keep this as a one off.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

Those were my only thoughts when I first arrived in this world.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

I was a monster. A beast who knew nothing but searing rage. A hellish predator.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

The thoughts still return from time to time. The overwhelming and all-consuming urge to let go. To allow the wolf to hunt its prey. I can’t even begin to describe how much that frightens me.

I approached Slithering Sam’s, the tavern I frequented every few weeks or so, with apprehension in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why. I knew the outcome would be the same as every other time. The sky was pitch black. In the distance, somewhat obscured by the jovial din emanating from the tavern, ghastly screams and excited screeches split the air. The screams were cut off short moments later, leaving only victorious shrieks.

As I passed through the entrance of the bar, I was immediately greeted by a smell the likes of which no creature should be subjected to. It was a foul mixture of sour alcohol, rotting meat, and demonic body odor and secretions.  My wolfen sense of smell then amplified the grotesque stench to unholy proportions. I’d have thought I would have been accustomed to Slithering Sam’s characteristic miasma, but it seems the gods can’t be bothered to show that kind of mercy to a sinner such as myself.

The tavern that stood at the border of Ashen Moor was typically a place of lively chatter and good times. A place where one could almost forget their brutal reality. That wasn’t the case when the drunks and other barflies caught sight of the monster known as the Burning Wolf.

Looks of fear and anger were seared onto the faces of every demonic patron. They say that once someone enters Demoniac, their new form is based off of the sins they committed in their past life. If that’s true, I didn’t want to know what these people did. As was fact for the majority of the denizens of Demoniac, most of the people surrounding me were disgusting, malformed masses of meat. Some even had little to no hint of their previous human forms left.

I can’t say I blame Slithering Sam’s customers for acting the way they did upon seeing me. Not so long ago I was a terror in this world. A hulking, bipedal, flaming wolf who stalked its prey without mercy. I slaughtered countless of my fellow demons and feasted on their corrupted flesh. Nearly every single person unfortunate enough to be caught in my claws died in agonizing pain. Only one ever survived.

I felt all eyes on me as I approached the bar. My now human-like form wasn’t enough to prevent the whispers and spats. They knew it was only a facade. The true beast must still lurk beneath; the terror of Demoniac.

“Back again, Wolf?” Sam, the proprietor and namesake of the tavern, had the upper body of a man, and the lower body of a slug. Wherever he moved, he left behind a trail of green ooze. It’s become a rule of thumb to watch where you walk in Slithering Sam’s or else you might end up flat on the floor, and not just from having too much to drink.

I nodded. “Any word?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothin’. I’m tellin’ ya, Wolf, the girl’s gone. Better to just move on at this point. No point wastin’ your time.”

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew Sam wasn’t going to have heard anything. I’ve asked about Erin multiple times. The answer was always the same.

“I’m sorry, Wolf. Could I get ya a drink?” Sam asked, as kindly as he could.

Wolf is what the few people who talk to me call me by. My memory from my previous life has yet to return, so I don’t know what my true name is. I don’t mind though. I’m a wolf now so I might as well be called one.

I turned down Sam’s offer. I knew he personally didn’t mind my presence, especially due to our history, but the look on his face told me that he was hoping I’d decline. Sam was a businessman at heart, and I’m bad for business. The couple minutes I was there, three people had already left.

Immediately after returning to the still night air from whence I came, the ordinary ruckus of Slithering Sam’s began once more. I narrowed my yellow, canine eyes and gazed into the darkness. The land of the Ashen Moor was flat and easy to traverse. The night was still young, so I decided to keep going. I didn’t know where, but it was better than just staying where I knew Erin wasn’t.

I don’t remember much from when I first arrived in Demoniac; when I was a raging monster. Only fragments of confused images. And those thoughts.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

That was my life after awaking in that cave hidden deep within the Forest of Echoes, where the trees have faces and whisper dark secrets. A burning hatred consumed my soul. Hatred for what, I didn’t know. I still don’t. But it consumed me. WAS me. I was angry, and everything was going to pay.

It didn’t take long for the people of Demoniac to tell stories of the nine foot tall black wolf with burning fur who walked like a man and had ignited claws. They frightened each other with tales of how my howl would set the air aflame, and how the ground was seared with every step I took. I tore their bodies to unrecognizable shreds, and feasted upon their charred bones. If philosophers in the living world ever wondered what nightmares visit demons in their sleep, then I am the answer they seek.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

My slaughter went on for an untold number of years. To this day, I still don’t know how long I prowled the land, or how many I killed along the way. To be honest, my massacre would probably still be going if it hadn’t been for that girl.

Erin. My heart jumped at the mere thought of her. She had long, chestnut hair with a freckled face. Her lips were a soft pink that would often form a smile that hid a hint of sadness. Her eyes, one of the few things on her that betrayed the fact that she was a demon, were great pools of sapphire, shaped like that of a cat’s.

I don’t know if it was mere coincidence that I came across her that day, or if the gods decided to have a little fun with the fates of mortals, as people often like to think they do. In any case, I found myself that night hunting in the Weeping Swamp. Having heard shouts and the sound of running, I decided to investigate. I discovered a group of four men chasing after a girl amongst the bogs. The smell of malice and desire stung my nostrils as I watched them practically tripping over each other to reach the female. Eventually, something caught the girl’s foot and she fell. The insidious men spared no time in falling upon the helpless woman. It was then that I made my move.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

Before they had the chance to fulfil their wicked desires, I let out an ear-splitting howl that froze the assailants in their tracks. In an instant, I was charging at the deviants, immediately killing one as I pounced, crushing his head on the ground beneath my claw and releasing the bright light of his soul into the sky. Hunched over the lifeless body, I looked up at the remaining three men and growled. At that moment, they no longer smelled of malice and desire. They smelled only of fear. And it was divine.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

I stood up, towering over them like a giant. Whether it was a moment of sudden bravery or insanity, one of the men, one that had two pointed, whip-like tails and slender fingers, decided to rush me. In one fluid motion, I caught him between my claws, lifted him over my head, and unleashed a blazing inferno from my maw. He screamed in agony as his flesh blackened and crisped. When he stopped flailing, I tore him in two and threw the roasted remains aside, letting blood spill over my face, and the soul to journey to the center of Demoniac like the other. I licked my lips, leaving drops of boiling spittle steaming on the ground.

The remaining men, now fully aware of what awaited them, desperately attempted to escape. They didn’t make it. One, a hunched rat creature with beady eyes, scurried screaming over soggy bramble. I leaped over him, landing in front of my game. I swung a burning claw, cleaving the entrails from his body as they sizzled.

As I watched the last man try to run, the youngest of the group and covered from head to toe in hair, I let out another howl, signaling that death was approaching. I dropped to all fours and charged the boy, burning the ground to cinders along the way. He stood no chance. I tackled the boy, pinning him to the ground beneath me. I began to drool in anticipation, burning my prey’s face with boiling saliva. He pleaded pathetically for his miserable life as slimy tears poured from his eyes. His begging fell on deaf ears. I opened my mouth and released a hellish blaze that engulfed the boy, turning his pleas into inhuman cries of pain. The pungent aroma of burning flesh and hair filled the night air. I plunged my razor sharp teeth into what remained of his neck and tore off a piece the color of charcoal.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

With the pursuers dead and their spirits vacating their corpses, all that remained was their target. The girl never moved from the spot where she fell. She chose, instead of fleeing, to watch the mayhem happening around her. I walked with purpose towards her, emitting a low growl all the while. Even still, she didn’t budge. When I stood directly over top of her, I dropped to all fours and leaned in close to her face. I growled and licked my lips. The fear was apparent in her blue cat eyes, but she didn’t cry out like all the others. No, instead she cautiously raised a soft hand to my muzzle and pet the hot fur. That was the first time since coming to Demoniac that my rage subsided.

From that moment on, Erin and I became partners. Wherever she went, I went. I was her guardian, and she was my humanity. We were an unlikely pair: a beautiful, sweet girl and a raging animal. And yet maybe it was that unlikeliness that made it work. No longer did anyone or anything try to attack Erin, and the once uncontrollable flame in my heart began to cool.

We traveled together for months, a girl and her wolf, surviving as best we could in this world of demons. I’d hunt the strange animals that inhabited Demoniac to feed us, while she would speak and sing to me, petting my fur and calming my mind. Then one night, beneath a rocky overhang we chose to sleep beneath that evening, something nobody ever dreamed of happened.

I wrapped my arms around Erin, as I did every night, while she hummed a delicate tune before we fell asleep. I don’t know what it was about the music she chose that night, but it stirred something inside me. I felt tears well up in my eyes for the first time in ages. As I quietly sobbed, my body began to change. My limbs shrank, and most of my fur faded away. My muzzle turned into a small nose and mouth, and my ears rounded. Beneath the rocky overhang, cradling a kind, caring girl, was no longer a wolf, but a man. Erin shot up to her feet in astonishment, but her look of surprise soon turned to joy as tears touched her eyes, just as they did mine. I was no longer a monster.

Adjusting to life as a man was...difficult, to say the least. For one thing, I could actually think. No longer did my thoughts consist solely of rage and hunger, and I was able to reason and speak. I lost most of my monstrous strength and agility, along with my ability to generate flames, which I’d be lying if I said this absence wasn’t hard to get used to. I did however keep my keen wolfen senses, which came in useful on more than one occasion.

And of course Erin was there to help ease the transition. Most, if not all, of my understanding of the world I find myself in came from her explanations. She told me how every intelligent being in Demoniac is a demon, including us, and we were brought here after dying in the mortal world. Then, if we die again here, our spirits leave our deceased, corrupted bodies, and travel to the center of the world. What happens once they reach there, however, is a mystery. There are countless theories out there, but none have been confirmed.

She also explained to me the theory of how everyone’s demonic forms are based on their previous lives in the mortal realm, and, more specifically, the sins they committed. I sometimes wonder what sins I committed to transform myself into such a monster. However, without my memories ever returning, I’ll never know. I asked Erin what sins she believed clung to her soul since, unlike me, she had her memories, but she never told me and I felt it unnecessary to be persistent in my questioning. We are who we are in the here and now. Our pasts are meaningless.

Life was as good as it could be in Demoniac. I may have found myself in a cruel, unforgiving wasteland, but I was with a woman who I cared for deeply and was even able to meet some people I could almost call friends. Unfortunately, something deep inside me was getting restless. The wolf wasn’t fond of its cage.

Emotions were a dangerous thing. The flames of the Burning Wolf were fueled by rage, which is in abundance when dealing with the often hateful denizens of Demoniac. Even though I was no longer the terrifying beast that I once was, I still needed to protect Erin. This often led to fights with malicious individuals where I’d feel something enkindling inside of me. On numerous occasions, I found myself unbearably close to reverting to what I once was. When the fighting was over and the immediate danger had passed, I would often need to sit and breathe while waging another, unseen battle inside my mind.

Erin blamed herself for my struggles. She believed that if she wasn’t around, we wouldn’t be attacked so often, and I wouldn’t need to welcome so much rage into my heart. I would always try to reassure her but my words weren’t enough.

The most dangerous instance of nearly losing control came when we were ambushed by a group of bandits looking for some fun.I fought them off as best as I could with the scythe I had found shortly after transforming, but there were a lot of them and they were skilled. One managed to reach Erin and grab her. I saw as he was trying to carry her away. The wolf’s cage was battered, and at that point, the bars nearly snapped. I rushed the bandit and roared as flames began to burst from my flesh.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

With three quick slashes, the attacker fell in a pool of blood and his spirit emerged. I turned to the remaining bandits and I don’t know what happened next. The rest is just a red blur.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

I came to a couple hours later. Erin told me that I fell after killing the bandits, and began to shake and growl while curled up on the ground. She managed to drag me to a secluded area where she tried her best to calm me. She watched with sorrow and fear as my wolfen features became more pronounced. Her throat began to hurt with how much she sang and hummed.

Things were different after that day. Erin became more distant. I tried telling her that I was fine and that she shouldn’t blame herself, but she wouldn’t listen. In her mind, I almost lost myself because of her.

Then, one morning, she was gone. She left in the middle of the night without a trace as a misguided attempt at protecting me. When I realized she was gone, I went numb. In her sadness, it didn’t occur to her that she would be causing me more pain by leaving than by staying. I’ve been searching for her ever since, but she knows me better than anyone, and is more than capable of concealing her tracks from me.

I sat next to a campfire I made after walking for hours from Slithering Sam’s. I stared long into the flames; watched as the burning whips lashed the air. Uninvited thoughts of what horrors might have reached Erin invaded my mind. As they did, the fire intensified.

Rip. Tear. Burn. Gnaw.

#writing #short story #wolf #fantasy #rage #Demoniac

[theantthatwrites]

Dragon Slayer (poem)

Note: For those unfamiliar, this poem is about my favorite manga/anime (actually one of my favorite series of any medium), “Berserk”, or more specifically, the weapon the main character wields. For clarity’s sake, the main character wields a massive, 400 pound sword. I highly recommend the series, although be warned, it’s not for the faint of heart. If you can stomach intense violence, then you’re in for one hell of a ride.

With four hundred pounds of iron, 

I destroy all who face me.

Be they man or demon who environ,

The smart ones always flee

As my master wields me with glee.

My bloodthirst can never be quenched

In this hellish, unending age.

In every fight I am clenched,

And when my master succumbs to his rage,

I’ll rejoice as the beast is released from its cage.

No being is safe from my might

For countless times have I been painted red

With the blood of wicked things in the night.

Now both spirits and gods feel dread

When nearby my master treads.

I’ve sent humans flying in a jumble,

And was countless trolls’ doom.

My iron caused the mad priest to crumble,

And skeletons return to their tomb.

I even impaled the she-god through the womb.

But no death will satisfy my master,

Until he inflicts a disorienting shock

To the blind sheep who follow disaster.

No longer will they wish to gawk,

At what I leave behind of The Hawk.

#Berserk #poetry #Dragon Slayer #writing #manga #anime

[theantthatwrites]

Newton’s Cradle (short story)

Note: I’m new to tumblr so I’m not exactly sure how to format correctly. Specifically, the paragraphs turn into separated blocks, and all italicization disappears. I apologize ahead of time for any confusion this may cause.

Clack, clack, clack, clack.

The silver spheres of the Newton’s Cradle on my desk clashed in a soothing rhythm. On the television in the corner of my office, CIN News recounted the important events happening in the world.

“The death toll continues to rise as more and more people fall victim to the devastating disease popularly known as ‘Copper Lung.’ Medical professionals and scientists continue to search for the, as of yet, unknown cure for the sickness. Hundreds of thousands of deaths have already been reported across the country.”

I sat there listening in annoyance as the reporter droned on. The news was never the place to go for a happy story, but now it was getting out of hand. Every hour of every day, it seemed the only thing being talked about was Copper Lung. Ever since it first appeared within that Detroit construction worker six months ago, cases of it began to spring up like weeds. A mother here, a child there. CEO, homeless, student, the disease almost didn’t care who you were or where you came from. Almost. There was an exception; one that nobody overlooked.

The news went to commercial break and a political advertisement played. T’rella Qouretz was running for mayor. She seemed like every politician to me, making empty promises to improve everyone’s way of life, while almost assuredly changing nothing if she were to get elected. The only difference being she was a rylekian, an alien species so considerately known to the wide world of bigots as “space hobos.” She didn’t try to hide it either, not that she could have. Anyone could see her magenta colored skin, pointed ears, short stature, and green, cat-like eyes from a mile away.

She’s fighting an uphill battle, I thought.

The rylekians have had a rough go at it ever since landing on our planet a hundred years ago, and it hasn’t gotten much better. They’re treated with hatred and distrust, often forced to live in slums. Many end up beaten, or face down in a gutter due to interactions with humans. They’re spit on, ridiculed, and discriminated against. I don’t know how bad life was like on their home planet for them to flee, but there’s no way it could have been as terrible as it is for them here.

My sister treated them differently, though. She would often cry whenever she heard the latest horror story happening to the rylekians. She cared for the aliens and would often volunteer at shelters that assisted them. To her, they were the same as any of us.

I looked at the clock on my computer. 6:50 PM.

Ten more minutes and I can go home, I mused in anticipation.

It’s been a slow week. Nobody’s ever said private investigating was always steady work, but I could typically get at least a few cases every week. I didn’t let it get to me, though. I needed a vacation. I’ve been known to overwork myself from time to time.

I drummed my fingers on my desk, watching the spheres of my Newton’s Cradle rock back and forth. My sister gave it to me as a gift when I left the police force and decided to start my own investigation service, away from the bureaucracy of the department. She said every office needs one. At first I thought it was stupid, but now I’ve grown to like the silly desk toy. I made sure to let her know of my change of heart before it was too late.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound came from the door. “Mr. Reese,” cried the voice of my secretary, Suzie, from the other side. “A potential client is here to see you.”

I glanced at the clock once again. It mockingly showed 6:59. I sighed and requested Suzie send the person in. I pondered if I should tell Suzie to no longer allow new clients to visit past quarter of seven.

The door squeaked open on its hinges, revealing Suzie with her long, curly blonde hair. “Right this way, ma'am,” she called to an unseen woman. A figure wearing a long, hooded black coat cautiously walked in. The person was short, shorter than your average person. Beneath the figure’s hood, I glimpsed magenta skin.

“Thank you, Suzie. You may go home, I’ll lock up when I’m done here.”

The secretary saluted me, a motion she often made, seemingly as a joke. While not particularly funny, it was kinda cute seeing the sweet girl make such an absurdly out of place gesture. She softly closed the door to my office, causing a slight click.

The rylekian lowered her hood once Suzie had left. I was taken slightly aback.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who’d take such precautions to hide their features,” I remarked. “You seem quite proud of them on T.V., Ms. Qouretz.”

“Pride shouldn’t take precedence over safety,” the politician so firmly informed me. “When I’m campaigning I have protection. Security is there in case anyone tries to harm me. In private matters such as these, however…” she trailed. “It’s not exactly the wisest decision for a rylekian to wander alone in areas densely populated by humans. A rylekian woman even less so.”

I couldn’t argue with her logic. It’s gotten so bad that if a rylekian shows up dead in a human neighborhood, the rylekian is the one blamed for being where they shouldn’t have been.

“So what is it you need, Ms. Qouretz,” I inquired as I turned off the television. “It must be something important for you to so blatantly risk your well-being.”

T’rella nodded gravely. Her shoulder length, pink-violet hair shook slightly with the effort.

“How good are you at finding missing people, Mr. Reese,” she asked. I shrugged. “I’ve yet to fail whenever I’m asked to look for someone. Granted, they’re not always alive, but I find them. Why, who’re you looking for?”

The politician looked at her feet while rubbing the back of her neck, obviously trying to find the right words. “I doubt you know this,” she said suddenly after a long pause, “but many of my people have gone missing in this city. Most of them lived in the slum known as Idleberg. Dozens have disappeared without a trace. The news doesn’t report on it due to it being a crime against rylekians, which doesn’t rouse the interest of human viewers.”

T’rella Qouretz’s fists clenched. “Others, including myself, have brought up the disappearances to the authorities, but they only respond with the obligatory, ‘We’ll look into it when we can,’ the liars.” She took on a very solemn expression. “I swear if I’m elected, things will be different. My people will be equals in Chicago.”

I couldn’t help but admire the woman’s determination. I was shocked to realize that she actually wanted to change things for the better, and wasn’t just saying things she believed the public wanted to hear, like other politicians do. My sister would have liked her.

It left a bitter taste in my mouth knowing that the woman’s hopes will be crushed, that she’ll never get elected. Even if every rylekian in Chicago, along with whatever few humans were sympathetic to their plight, voted for T’rella Qouretz, I doubted she’d be elected. It didn’t matter if she was a better candidate. Hatred has quite the blinding effect.

“I’ve heard,” T’rella continued, “that you are good at what you do and aren’t against helping rylekians. That you actually see us as people. Since you didn’t immediately throw me out of your office, I see that’s the case. So, please, will you help find the missing rylekians from Idleberg?”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Honestly, Ms. Qouretz, as long as you’re paying, you could be a giraffe for all I care.”

The politician smiled.

The next night I went to Idleberg, making note of it in my files, as I did with every place I visited for work. Like every slum the rylekians were forced to live in, it was an absolute dump. It smelled of rotten fish, sweat, and excrement, all mixed together to create something truly awful. Then there was the smog. Idleberg was situated near a factory of some kind, tainting the air with its presence.

I held my breath as much as I could, and walked the streets of the slum. All around me were rylekians. Each one, young or old, male or female, had the same look of defeat on their face. As I walked by, they eyed me with obvious suspicion. After all, why would a human visit a place such as this? I didn’t think I was in any real danger. Most rylekians were wise enough to not mess with a human, knowing full well the retaliation they’d receive if the attack were to become known. Even still, I couldn’t help but pat the pistol I kept hidden in my coat when on the job. I didn’t mean any harm to the unfortunate occupants of Idleberg, but they didn’t know that.

I walked up to a small, one story building with boarded up windows. I looked at the address on the battered mailbox next to the door to make sure I was in the right place. It said 122 Sunflower Street, just as T’rella said it would. I knocked on the metal door, noticing that there was once a doorbell to the side of it, but was torn out.

After a few moments, the door opened a crack. In the small opening, I could see a yellow, cat-like eye staring back at me. It opened wider and in the doorway I saw a rylekian man. He had the light, blue-violet skin exclusive, I knew, to the males of his species, just as the magenta skin was a feature inherent to the females. Being able to see his full face, I noticed his eyes were wet with red coloration around them. He had been crying.

“Are you the one Miss Qouretz sent,” the man asked, sniffling a bit.

I nodded. “That I am. May I come in?”

The sorrowful man moved aside, making room for me to walk past. I emerged into a room dimly lit by candles. I guessed the building didn’t have electricity. The room was modestly furnished. Very modestly.

The home’s owner motioned to a nearby stool, torn and with the cotton spilling from the top. When I sat on it, it rocked due to uneven legs.

The rylekian grabbed a dirty cloth and blew his nose into it while sitting on another nearby stool. “Your species are real bastards, you know that,” he asked, obviously not expecting a response, nor did I give him one. “First you kill my wife, and now you take my son! We haven’t done anything to you!”

I leaned forward in the stool, resting my head on my knuckles. “Are you sure it was a human who took your son,” I inquired calmly.

“Who else could it have fucking been,” the distressed father exclaimed, possibly taking offence from what could potentially be seen as an offensive question to those unfamiliar with my work. He began to divulge what he knew, angrily, but coherently. I listened quietly and intently, allowing him to vent any frustration he was feeling.

“I told him not to take that job,” the rylekian father remarked, “but he didn’t listen. I told him people have been disappearing around that area but he didn’t care.” The man sobbed. “My boy wanted to earn us some money. That’s all he wanted. To help his father by getting us some dinner. And then they fucking took him from me, dammit!” The rylekian wiped his eyes with the same dirty cloth he blew his nose into earlier. If my sister had seen him, I’m sure she’d have hugged him.

The father continued his explanation. “I bet his boss, Cromley, I think his name was, had something to do with it.”

I decided to interject there. “Who’s Cromley? What does he do?”

The rylekian grimaced. “He runs that big factory that makes some kind of mechanical parts. I’m sure you saw it. It creates so much smog that you can hardly see outside some days. Most of the people who disappeared vanished around the factory. I know that bastard had a hand in it. Please, talk to him and get him to confess.” The miserable father’s eyes lit up. “Tell me when he does too. Please.”

I followed the lead and visited this Cromley at his factory. What exactly was being made there, I couldn’t tell you. It could have been anything from car parts to refrigerators. The cacophony I was greeted with made my ears ring and battered my brain. Hearing myself think, let alone someone talking, was out of the question. Nevertheless, I managed to communicate to one of the primarily rylekian workforce that I wished to speak to his boss. He led me up a flight of metal stairs to a tiny office overlooking the entire operation. I thanked my guide, but I wasn’t positive he heard me.

I knocked on the door but couldn’t be sure if that would work. I couldn’t even hear the knock myself. My fears were alleviated when the door suddenly swung open, revealing a giant, round man standing angrily in front of me. He motioned me inside and quickly shut the door.

Thankfully, the small office of Cromley must of had some sort of sound proofing, for the blare of the factory became a mild buzz. My host took a seat behind his desk. There wasn’t another chair.

“Who the hell are you,” Cromley so politely asked. Cromley must have been the largest man I had ever seen in my life. I’m pretty sure you could have fit three grown adults in his shirt and still had room to move around. His face and head were completely shaven. His scalp shined brightly in the light, visibly damp with sweat.

“My name is Malcolm Reese,” I replied. “I wanted to ask you about the recent disappearances of rylekians. I’ve heard that many vanished around your factory.”

“And let me guess,” Cromley said, clearly agitated, “you think I had something to do with it?” The factory owner suddenly began to cough violently into his hand. I thought I could glimpse blood in his palm when he was finished. He wiped the gunk onto his denim pants.

“I just want information. Nothing more, nothing less,” I informed my host.

“Then listen close,” Cromley barked. “I had nothing to do with those missing space hobos. Why the fuck would I want to get rid of my own damn workers? I want the culprit found as much as you do! Do you know how much money I’m fucking losing because of this?”

Cromley began to sweat even more profusely. Another coughing fit overtook him, worse than the previous one. His eyes watered as red clearly leaked from between his fingers. He looked at the blood in his hand in disgust. I knew what was wrong.

I crossed my arms. “How long do you have,” I asked the dying man.

“Who the fuck knows,” Cromley answered, his words tinged with a hint of sadness.

That was usually the case with Copper Lung. If you got it, you could have anywhere from a few days, to a few months to live. Nobody could ever say for sure. My sister had three weeks.

Copper Lung was miraculously not believed to be contagious, so I wasn’t in any danger of catching it. I continued to question Cromley.

“Even if you weren’t involved, surely you know something that could help me. The disappearances took place near your factory. Dozens of them. You must have noticed something out of the ordinary. Anything at all.”

Cromley bashed his ham of a fist against his desk, making everything on top tremble.

“I told you, I don’t know anything! I even checked the security footage, didn’t see a damn thing.”

My curiosity was piqued. “Mind if I see the footage?”

The large man clicked a few times on his computer and then handed me a disc. “If it gets you out of my office,” he said.

I watched the footage at home. I stared at the screen for hours, all the while sipping a cup of black coffee. It was an addiction I couldn’t manage to overcome.

Cromley was correct. The security cameras didn’t pick up anything suspicious. To the average person. I, however, was experienced in this kind of thing. Among the ordinary footage of rylekians walking to and from the factory, a van could be seen driving by. This wouldn’t normally raise any alarms, but I noticed this exact van appeared multiple times in the footage. It could be nothing, maybe this street was just on the van’s regular route. However, the sheer number of times it appeared rubbed me the wrong way. I decided to follow my instincts and slow down the footage to inspect the van. In blurry letters, I saw the words, “New Hope Pharmaceuticals.”

Early the next day, after noting it in my files, I decided to pay New Hope Pharmaceuticals a visit. It was located near the center of Chicago, surrounded by various other businesses. The building was a massive skyscraper, lined with shining glass windows. Their logo, a fox lying upon the company name, could be seen on the white vans surrounding the premises. The same van seen so many times outside of Cromley’s factory.

I watched the vans as nonchalantly as I could, figuring out where they went as they returned. From where I stood, I saw most vans entered a tunnel that headed underground, barred off by a guard operating a boom gate. If I was going to get any answers, they would be down there.

I left New Hope Pharmaceuticals and returned in the middle of the night, suspecting the cover of darkness would work to my advantage. My strategy worked, as there were far less eyes around, and I was able to sneak past the gate guard with ease. Thankfully, he didn’t take his job very seriously. Instead of looking out for any unwanted visitors, he focused all of his attention on his phone, laughing at something or other.

I stuck to the shadows as best as I could and made my way down the tunnel. From behind, an approaching van rumbled. Without hesitation, I quickly hid behind a nearby crate and waited for it to pass. I held my breath, hoping I was fast enough for them not to see me. When they passed, I knew I was safe.

I watched as the van pulled up to a metal gate that was situated off the main path. The words, “Restricted Access,” were illuminated on a sign above. The driver input a code on a nearby keypad, slowly opening the gate. I snuck closer, carefully staying out of sight, trying to catch a better glimpse as to what was on the other side of the gate.

In the chamber was various instruments, some obviously meant for creating medicines, but others with not so clear purposes. Humans in white lab coats ran back and forth, inspecting vials and calculating data. Nothing too out of the ordinary yet. Right before the gate shut, however, something terrible caught my eye. The rear doors of the van I followed into the depths beneath the building were opened by the driver and in the back were three rylekians, tied and gagged.

Before I had a chance to act, I felt a shock and everything went black. When I came to, I saw that I was sat up in a chair, but not strapped. Still weak, I gazed meekly at my surroundings. Submissive looking rylekians were kept in cages, dozens of them, all appearing to be drugged. Pinned to various boards were scans of lungs. Half of them were discolored and seemed to be almost metallic. I knew immediately they were afflicted with Copper Lung, for I had seen images just like them when my sister was diagnosed.

The other half of the lung images were shaped differently, not human. They also seemed perfectly healthy, from my limited medical knowledge. While never having seen a picture of them before, I made the educated guess that they were rylekian lungs. A feeling of unease washed over me like a waterfall, so I searched for comfort in my gun. It, of course, was taken while I was out cold, to my dismay.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll get it back once it’s clear you aren’t a threat to anyone here.”

I turned and saw a middle-aged man in round glasses and a white lab coat holding my pistol. He had a look of exhaustion, with purple, heavy bags under his eyes. He had a name tag that said, “Howard Jones,” pinned to his coat.

“Now, I must ask,” the scientist continued, “what were you doing armed in an area clearly marked, ‘Restricted Access?’”

I remained silent, only staring at Jones.

Howard Jones sighed. “Look, I’m trying to help you. To do that, I need to know why you’re here. If you don’t have any malicious intentions, you can be on your way. No harm done.”

I nodded towards the nearby cages holding the kidnapped rylekians. “Why are they here?”

Jones’ face scrunched up with a look of confusion. “Those animals,” he asked. “They’re going to help us with our experiments. Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”

I was astonished. He was speaking of intelligent beings as no more than creatures at a zoo. I knew there were plenty of people out there who thought like him, but this man was a scientist. I thought the smart ones were past prejudices.

“The problem,” I answered, “is that you’re kidnapping people.”

That same confused look remained on Jones’ face. “I don’t know why you’d think that. The only people here are employees of New Hope Pharmaceuticals and volunteers who have been diagnosed with Copper Lung. And now you.”

“Cut the shit,” I snapped. “You know I’m talking about the rylekians!”

Jones removed his glasses and rubbed off a smudge with his shirt. “Space hobos aren’t people, even if the law says otherwise. They are intruders, squatting on our planet. We can barely sustain our own population, and now we need to care for monsters from another world. Thinking that’s possible, let alone desirable, is madness.”

My sister would have been livid if she’d had heard what I just did.

“The only mad one I see is you,” I sneered, crossing my arms.

The scientist was clearly agitated. “May I ask your name?”

“Malcolm,” I barked.

“Malcolm. Have you figured out what we’re doing here, Malcolm,” he inquired. “Why I study countless lung scans every day, and perform numerous experiments? We’re trying to cure the deadliest sickness to hit our species in generations. Have you lost anyone to this disease?”

I looked away.

“Ah,” he responded, noticing my reaction. “Of course you have. It’s becoming more and more rare for someone to not have lost a loved one from it. Personally, I lost my daughter. When that happened, I swore I would find a cure so no one else would need to feel what I felt the day she was buried.

The scientist continued. “Let me tell you how to best find a cure for an ailment. You search for a living creature that the ailment doesn’t affect, and find a way to harness whatever makes them immune for yourself. Do you know what the only creature that we’ve been able to find that’s immune to Copper Lung is?”

I knew.

“Every single one of these space hobos,” Jones said, not waiting for an answer, “you insist on calling ‘people.’ Using these beasts are the best chance we have at survival. So what if a few need to die? As long as we survive, that’s all that matters. If we knew that sooner, and had the guts to do what was necessary, my daughter and whomever you lost may have lived.”

Howard Jones rubbed his temples. “So, what are you going to do, Malcolm? I’m tired and still have a lot to do before I can rest. You can leave here, forget you saw anything, and allow us to save humanity. Or you can try to free a bunch of animals. If you attempt that, though, I can’t guarantee you’ll survive, especially since I’m holding this gun that you so thoughtfully brought. And your sudden appearance means we will cover up everything happening here, no matter what you choose, in case you decided to double cross us or told anyone where you were going. So, what’ll it be?”

I crossed my arms and smiled, noticing a Newton’s Cradle clacking away on the nearby desk.

#short story #scifi #noir