OMGOMGOMG DARLINGS IT IS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER, IT'S ALMOST OVER! ONE MORE TO GO! I'm very excited.
COUNTDOWN: PLEASE NOTE, THIS STORY WILL DISINTEGRATE IN ONE CHAPTER! I.E. STORY GONNA END ON CHAPTER 20, IT'LL ALL BE OVER, THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR, SLUGGIES.
Here are the rules to reading my story (HUH! RULES! HOW SHOCKING! Blame society, kids, ALWAYS blame society):
1: No under-aged kiddies, sexually confused, openly gay, or whatever kinds of people here. Either you're of an appropriate age or get out. But, just between us, I can't and won't stop you.
2: If you're lawfully restrained from reading gay literature then don't read it, but, again, I won't stop you. It's clearly your country's fault (Hi Russia, Hi Uganda, etc) for being so closed-minded. We are, after all, in a post-modern world, I can't stop you, but I have warned you.
3: Read the previous chapters if you want to understand the story.
4: Donate to Nifty if you enjoyed this story.
5: Break the rules if you want, kids, never do what society wants because society sucks. As do my main characters. Wink.
6: EMAIL ME AT THE FOLLOWING: ENCHANTINGENCHANTOR[AT]HOTMAIL[DOT]COM THIS EXACT SPELLING PLEASE LOOK AT IT BECAUSE THE SPELLING IS VERY IMPORTANT, ENCHANTOR NOT ENCHANTER, IDK, IF YOU WANT TO COMMENT THEN DO IT THERE. THANKS BITCHES. BYE BITCHES.
The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter 19 (ONE CHAPTER REMAINING):
HOLD UP: IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU READ THIS SENTENCE! THIS CHAPTER IS BRINGING TOGETHER LOOSE ENDS! IF YOU'VE READ FROM THE BEGINNING, YOU'LL REMEMBER THAT THIS ENTIRE TIME, MARCUS'S GRANDMOTHER HAS BEEN LOOKING FOR HIM (chapter eight) - YOU REMEMBER HER? I'M TYING LOOSE ENDS IN THIS CHAPTER: THE IMMORTALITY BUSINESS (some characters will be coming back from the dead), THE WHOLE LIGHT AND DARKNESS BUSINESS, EVERYTHING WILL BE TIED UP THIS CHAPTER, AND WILL LEAD YOU TO THE EDGE OF A CLIFF THAT WILL BE PICKED UP IN THE FINAL CHAPTER!
Now here it is:
If there was one thing Marcus wasn't expecting, it was to have sex. I mean, SEX! The thought of him having sex had never even crossed his mind, in any situation throughout his entire droll life. When he was younger, his mother and grandmother would always try and make him close to a girl who lived in the decrepit old cabin next door to their bronze keep.
He couldn't remember her name, it was Caroline, or Carolina, Carol, Carrie, something like that. He didn't think much of her, she was blond and Aryan and extremely beautiful, but she was never the object of his desire. His mother had had her over for dinner a few nights out of the week to try and get Marcus and the girl together, "betrothed" was the word they'd used.
But the girl was a wild spirit, free and independent, she'd vanish for days at a time and she refused to be tamed into marriage. She was a few years older than him, and because the Mallow family were one of the ruling families in the Pass, everyone thought she should be honoured to be betrothed to the heir to the Mallow treasures. Not that there was much treasure in the Pass.
But all Marcus remembered was the girl arguing down the hallway from his chambers, screaming, she was frantic. He was too young to really know what "betrothed" meant, but as time got on, he eventually figured out that they'd probably asked her to be betrothed to him and she'd denied.
She was branded with an iron hot poker, a scarring "H" right across her forehead - H for Harlot. Marcus had to watch the branding ceremony, although he was too young to understand why she was being branded just for refusing the betrothal. It turned out that she'd been in a relationship when Marcus's mother tried to betroth the two of them.
The problem was that this relationship was with another woman.
The two of them were branded that day, then thrown into the brothels to be sexually destroyed. He would see her, Caroline, Carolina, Carol, or Carrie, sometimes walking the streets. She kept to the shadows, but he saw her, and she was a constant reminder.
After Marcus began noticing the hot, rippling way Darius's muscles flexed and tensed, he realised he was in deep trouble. That memory scarred him and told him what would happen if anyone found out about these feelings he was having, these disgusting, horrid feelings. He'd have to undoubtedly keep them a secret, even being one of the ruling families didn't make him somehow above the law.
And it was their most strict and upheld law. Sodomy, they would say, was the one thing that could not be overlooked. There was a bed-time story that all the children of the Pass were told, about an old king, who liked to touch little boys. He'd touch his young servants, and forced them to keep their mouths shut about it. He was the King after all. But when one of his own guards caught him raping a nine year old boy, he fled to the Kingdom Council, and the king was arrested, branded a sodomiser, and hung the next day.
Times hadn't changed since mankind ruled a kingdom. Now there was no king, no kingdom - yet the Kingdom Council still existed. The Pass had its own, and the Mallow family were major councilors. And that law was never overlooked, still to that day.
But he didn't repress these feelings, he silently dealt with them at night. On his own. With his hand. He'd tell himself that what he was doing wasn't wrong, it was perfectly okay.
He knew he would never have sex because, 1) He would never sleep with girls. They repulsed him. And 2) He could never act on his feelings and sleep with men. That would risk getting himself branded a sodomiser and hung - so he strayed from any kind of sex.
Besides, over the years he'd learned little about sex. He knew where to put it with girls, obviously, but sex with men was so uncommon and unusual that he had no clue what that kind of sex would be.
He just never thought of himself having sex, full stop.
A few years after the incident with his "betrothal", he'd recently turned eleven, and there came a time when these feelings started rising more prominently. He'd openly stare at the boys in the Pass, especially in the Bath-House. The ruling families had unlimited access to the Bath-House, seeing as they needed to keep clean, but Marcus went more than often. Looking at the boys there, observing their offerings, their supple cheeks and their untouched, untarnished nakedness. It excited him.
Darius came from the lower classes, so there wasn't much of him in the Bath-House, and that was what made their friendship rare. Marcus came from an upper class, ruling family in the Pass, and he met Darius at a young age at the local weapon smithy. He was an apprentice for a while, but that never worked out, yet by that point they'd grown inseparable, and they became so close that his family overlooked it.
He'd fought with his feelings to ravage and devour Darius since he first saw him, sweaty and hot and barely clothed in the steaming blacksmith's workshop. Immediately, he thought he couldn't handle it. But eventually, he got used to Darius's unbridled perfection, and over time his infatuation became love.
But he still undeniably wanted to blow his fucking brains out.
Sex. With men. He didn't know how, yet what he did know was that, yes, he definitely wanted to.
And yet, lying there, memories flashed and bled out of his mind, flooding into him over and over, repeating. Murder, fire, bloodshed. He'd killed people, but not only that, he killed innocents, he'd killed royalty, he'd broken laws.
And he liked it. He wanted to do it again.
And then it struck him.
Darius positioning himself at the entrance to his ass, slipping in. He remembered ramming his rock-hard dick into himself, over and over, the feeling of having Darius entirely inside of him, bouncing on him, and it felt absolutely amazing. But then he remembered something else, too.
His darkness.
It crept onto Darius and it flipped him over, it practically raped him, forced himself onto him, inside of him. And Marcus liked it. He liked having Darius melting under him, moaning and screaming in pain or ecstasy - he didn't care which. Yeah, he was a little rough, but if you don't give it your all, then what is the point? He wanted to fuck him, and he finally had, but why did it feel so wrong?
Never in his life had he imagined himself having sex, he thought he would remain a virgin for eternity, and now his virginity is forever wrapped around Darius's lush pink dick.
And he was oddly fine with that.
No, in fact, it thrilled him a little, it gave him shivers - the good kind, the fabulous, scandalous, amazing kind.
He wanted it to happen again.
But his eyes crept open slowly, he was in a hallway of the castle, the firm lilac glass walls glittering and lighting the entire corridor in whiteness. He found it kind of ironic, in a way. He never believed in all that light and dark business, but magically waking up in the middle of an empty, yet bright white hallway after his darkness had taken him over didn't seem at all coincidental, it seemed on purpose.
He stood to his feet clumsily, barely grasping control over his own body. He felt it fighting, the darkness, eating at him from the inside, trying to regain control, tearing and kicking inside. It gave him a foul, incessant headache, he was already feeling sick.
Yet still, he managed, somehow, to stay on two feet, and found himself wandering. Clutching into himself, in pain, slowly limping around, he kept getting lost. Memories kept flooding in.
Daisy.
He'd killed her, she was gone. She was alive, and now she wasn't. And that was his fault. He was a murderer.
Yet the look on her face, of betrayal and horror, astonishment - it turned him on. Thinking about it flushed the darkness back in, but he fought it, pushing it, using every last piece of strength still in himself. Grappling at his light blond hair, pulling harder and harder.
The pain made it easier for him to focus, the harder he pulled, the further back the darkness flooded. But the fight was on-going, never abating, refusing to leave. It was constantly fighting for dominance, and it was winning.
A guard, dressed in silvery, shining armour turned a corner and immediately went for his wand - some witches' magic was too weak to pass through flesh, the obvious solution was a buffer between the magic passing through human flesh and expelling into the air. That was a wand. It amplified weaklings' powers.
Immediately, Marcus whipped himself up, facing the guard. A hand outstretched, the guard flinched, and screamed. His heavy steel armour grew hotter and hotter, growing bright red, melting through his flesh. His screams were sickening, yet Marcus could do nothing but smile.
The darkness broke free for only a moment, and murdered again. He slid up to the bubbling flesh that dribbled out into a puddle on the cemented floor, the petty wooden wand lying on the floor. Touching it, his darkness consumed its power, grew stronger - like he did with Daisy.
But, in those moments, he kept fighting, and managed to rip away from the darkness.
It screamed inside of him, forcing itself into control, forcing itself to consume him once again. But he refused. He dug his nails into his flesh and tore, he pulled his hair and bit his arms, he bashed his head over and over against the walls, but it stopped working.
And then, it all stopped.
And for a moment, he thought he was free.
The door before him slyly swung open, and inside, he saw Varia and Grisella, and other odd-looking creatures.
And in that one second of weakness, it grabbed him, smiling defiantly at them.
Something rumbled within him, something awful, rippling out of his body and blasting throughout the castle, rippling outwards, over and over, sending waves of pure electric darkness into the air, blasting out and away.
Immediately after, it sputtered out of his mouth, a black, slimy substance, thick and heavy. Choking him, he coughed it out, his eyes blotching over with darkness as it dribbled down his face. He felt it trickling out of his nose, his ears, frazzling him. He collapsed outside of a door, his hand reaching out to knock, to scream for help.
But he couldn't.
The blackness poured onto the floor, in great puddles, he lay in his own filth, spewing it up and gargling, barely catching his breath.
And then came sleep.
Darius felt it first. A pang, a horrible, loud, mechanical thrumming rippling throughout the entire castle. It woke up him, clasping at his ears.
He looked around his chambers, the bed messed and creased, the room stank of sex and sweat. Pulling the crumbled sheets from under him, revealing his nakedness, he remembered what happened.
And it made him smile.
But then the pang returned, loud and thunderous, echoing wildly throughout the entire palace.
He immediately jumped up and dressed as fast as he could, fleeing the filthy scene and following the sound. The hallways were empty and lifeless, the shimmering glass walls reflecting purple lights everywhere, illuminating the entire corridor, washing it in plum.
The thrumming wasn't that distant, and very easy to follow, leading him, beckoning to him. The very edge of the corridor came into his view, and as he turned, he felt a hot wave of air hit him, tossing him backwards.
"Didn't think you'd be seeing me again, did you?" The voice was squeaky and vile, and immediately, he knew.
"We killed you!" he screamed at the troll. Her single, rotting eye glared at him, her limey green skin sagging more than ever. She smiled, her teeth yellow and disgusting, sending awful wrinkles over her freckles and moles and disgusting blemishes.
"We thought so to," she replied, laughing hysterically, the huge, half-rotten corpse of Myrdok sliding around the corner, too. Their bodies were rotting away, their yellow bones visible and stinking out the entire vicinity. One look at the festering gash on Myrdok's groin forced Darius to shiver.
"How..." he mumbled, more to himself than them.
She cackled again. "Can you hear it, too? The noise, loud, horrible?" she asked. "It brought us back."
Myrdok spat on him. "It's time to meet your maker, boy."
"I am just so glad we have a chance to do this. Who gives a shit what miracle brought us back, but I ain't wasting my miracle dilly-dallying around. Myrdok, kill him!" She began hopping up and down frantically, laughing hysterically like a crazed monster.
Myrdok dragged his horrid, mushy body up to him, his left leg limping, and grabbing Darius by the neck, strangling him.
"Slowly," he told himself, "I want to enjoy this. Then it's off to get that disgusting little boy, we'll see how he likes his pecker chopped off!"
Kryt screamed, and dropped to the floor. Myrdok, in a moment of terror, grasped harder at Darius's neck as a sword slowly slipped through his head, poking out of his forehead funnily. He dropped Darius to the floor and collapsed, crashing to the ground, sinking, melting, until he was gone.
Standing in his place, an aged woman, yet strong, with light lilac hair shimmering over her shoulders. Garbed in a blood red robe that stroked the floor when she moved, and carrying a long, sharp, honed blade in her hands. She wiped it on her cape, ridding it of the disgust of trolls.
"Elisai?" he asked, astounded. "Elder Elisai?"
"Darius, darling, I've come a long fucking way," she said, smiling. "And no where serves a good cup of tea."
"Elisai... Mallow?" he stuttered, looking at her as if she was a ghost. She couldn't be here, so far from the Pass.
She smiled again, nodding her head sweetly. "I don't suppose you've seen my grandson anywhere, have you?"
The thrumming stopped long ago.
She could't remember collapsing, yet she had. She remembered Marcus, blasting out waves of pure darkness, and spewing that black, horrid substance.
As soon as the red-hot wave struck her, she felt it. The black tar rising in her throat, closing it up, leaving her gasping for air. She spat it out, over and over, bubbling and gargling it in her throat. Her eyes blotched black as she bled, it began dribbling from everywhere. Her ears, her nose, her eyes. And she'd collapsed, just like Marcus.
"W-What happened?" she stuttered lamely, climbing off of the floor, covered in the hot, sticky blackness. Searching the room, she found Lady Cortenza di Zoarchi dead, and Sir Ivan Tsoviksi barely alive. She rushed to his side, healing him immediately.
"That boy is beyond saving!" he gasped, standing and fleeing the room as fast as he could.
But then it struck her. She felt different, so different than before. She felt... normal. It was those waves, those red-hot waves. They did something.
Immediately, she turned to the nearest glass wall and saw her reflection staring back at her. Her eyes, once black and dark, once immortal, were no longer. They were grey like ice, almost entirely white. Her hair, once a fiery, scarlet red, was silvery and white, like the moon, rushing down to her hips like falling trails of snow.
She grabbed at her wrist with her long, pointed nails and dug deep, scratching hard.
"I'm... mortal!" she screamed. The wound refused to heal, blood oozed out lazily, blood as white as milk. "What devil's work is this?" she screeched, her eyes flowing straight to Marcus, lying on the floor outside of the door. Hurrying to him, she grabbed at him, holding him in her arms.
His eyes struck open, bright silver, glowing intently. His once golden hair was now a light, glowing silver. What had happened to them?
"Varia?" he asked groggily. She pulled him up. "Your hair... your eyes..." He looked into the glass of the walls and gasped at his own reflection. "What on Earth did I do?"
Storybook CLOSES FOR THE SECOND TO LAST TIME
THANKS FOR READING, I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS CHAPTER. Basically, if you're wanting an explanation for what happened, you'll have to read the next chapter.
AND FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DON'T REMEMBER, MARCUS'S GRANDMOTHER SET OFF LOOKING FOR HIM IN CHAPTER EIGHT! REMEMBER? WELL, WHATEVER. ANYWAY, TUNE IN NEXT TIME,
Yours' Dearly,
ThE eNcHaNtEr