IT'S THE FINAL INSTALLMENT OF THE ENCHANTER'S STORYBOOK!
Yes, it's finally here, you can sigh in relief knowing you won't have to wait for YET ANOTHER chapter. COUNTDOWN: PLEASE NOTE, THIS STORY WILL DISINTEGRATE WITHIN THE HOUR! 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 Twenty (ZERO CHAPTERS REMAINING):
The world we live in is constantly questioned, don't you think?
Morality does most of the questioning, Marcus has always thought.
Morality. It was a loose term, not really definable, as it changes with every different person, and with every different race, species, country, religion - it is in a constant state of flux.
Morality: what is right and what is wrong.
Some people were moral and liberal, some weren't. Some allowed same-sex relations, some found it abominable. Some used religion to hide the fact that, to their chagrin, they were entirely and completely immoral. And they used their religion as an excuse for their inner immorality.
When the world was under the cold, cruel grip of Mankind, immorality was like a disease, slowly spreading, plaguing everyone. Man's religion was foolish and intolerable. No man could lie with man, no woman could lie with woman. They deemed it sodomy, fornication, they deemed it disgusting. During the great purges, Mankind obliterated thousands of all species. Witches, trolls, elves - fairies especially. Fairies were a special kind of breed in that they actually PREFERRED the same sex. Yes, how shocking!
Throughout history, there has been change of all kinds. Man storming the battles with sword and steel, witches with wand and sorcery, fairies with mind-over-matter, trolls with fist and teeth and mud, elves cowering behind the power of the cold. Times kept changing, but immorality never changed.
It was always there, lurking in the background, sneaky like a thief in the night. Immorality was always there to make sure boys and girls were raped, immorality always made sure injustice blossomed, it ensured murder and heartless killings, sprouting creatures of foul darkness.
Some think darkness is made, but no, it is born. And yet, it can be changed.
Darkness and immorality are similar, in a way. Immorality is made, not born; yet darkness is born, not made. But immorality can be destroyed, and darkness can be changed. Darkness can become light, immorality can fade. Both can die.
But not everything can be so black and white. Not everything can be good and bad, dark or light. Immorality was not black and white, it wasn't a line drawn before you, it was a complex thing.
And that was the thing about the world.
Immorality and darkness had to exist, because, without them, there would be no balance.
And without balance, there is nothing.
Very few uncover this, but it is just so. Without immorality raping little boys and girls, without injustice, murder, and heartless killings, what would we be left with? Marcus hated to think it, but we would be left with boredom. Purely and simply. The world would be unbalanced, there would be no danger to be afraid of. And being afraid is good, danger is good.
It was not as though he had miraculously changed, because Marcus was still the same. He was the same boy inside, the same sweet, often naive, darling little thing that everyone knew him to be. He still had that hideous streak of darkness hidden away, even though now it was buried so deep that it would rarely overcome him anymore.
Metamorphosis: the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, thus is the stage of life. Some say that it is always darkest before the dawn, and that was how he saw it all. His darkness, all-consuming, disgusting, sticky like hot tar. Yet not unstoppable. And as the saying goes, Marcus was darkest before his dawn, and he smiled once he had realised. His new power had wisened him, this was almost certain.
The world around his was different, far different, he could sense it as soon as he had woken up in Varia's arms. The air glowed, the smells were faint and sweet, heavenly, everything was dazzling, glowing like the moon, shining like the sun. Everything was more ominous, more blissful than before, everything he could see before him was different.
His hair, a shocking silver; his eyes, a glowing white; even his skin, as pale as the moon. His blood was white and thick like milk, everything was different now. Even Varia was different.
Yet amongst his long, soft head of silvery locks stood a single strand - black as obsidian, a black darker than death. It fell down his forehead, to his eyebrows, almost curiously. It was odd to see, but it was clear, even then. In his eyes, though a stunning bright grey, were flecks of the darkest onyx. Even behind the white blanket, under his mysterious skin, under everything, he could still sense it, pulsating through him.
He had balance, now.
And with balance, he was free. He was somebody.
The world had heard the whimsical, almost fantastical tales of Marcus Mallow. The boy who strayed too far from home, the boy who climbed a high mountain and rested among the bones of the fierce and almighty dragons of the dead. The boy who had within him the power to crush worlds, to destroy empires and scatter kingdoms, to send great seas thundering down over the entire Known World. He became an old wive's tale, a tale that made children stare in awe and fall asleep to, a tale that inspired revolt against darkness.
From the bitter remains of mankind's scattered Empire of the Nine, over the drear Mount Skull, beyond the formidable and seemingly endless Sunstretch desert, through forests, hills, bogs, marsh, great spanning red lakes, and the disgust of the Trollsturf, he ventured through the world, to Purgador. Standing there as one boy - and as one boy, killing evil queens and trolls, destroying castles, tossing immortality around like an old doll he was sick of playing with, and sending many to their death. As one boy fighting darkness, and as the boy who won darkness.
They called him the Silverling, or the first of the Silverlings. Skin like milk, blood like milk, hair and eyes and everything like a pristine, white glass of milk. He was something new to the world, the Adam of his kind, and perhaps Varia was the Eve. From the very core of his being, sprang a new kind of thing. The Silverlings. No kingdoms, no immorality - true, spiritual souls that brought balance to the world, counter-acting all of the chaos and terror.
His kind were clean, unlike the filth that now ruled. The elves, the fairies, witches, trolls, orks, centaurs, dragons, giants - none of them were as pure and strong and limitless in magic, none of them as pure in soul. Starting at the bleak bottom of the food-chain, the seemingly extinct, most despised kind in the Known World, Marcus blossomed. From darkness came light, came purity, a true breed.
"What is wrong with us?" Varia had asked him, and inside, he felt he knew the answer. His eyes, grey and glowing and new, could see clearly. He spoke, his voice honeyed and fresh.
"Darkest before dawn. I think... I think I've become a butterfly," he said, laughing at himself, laughing hysterically. Through all of this, it was a miracle that he still managed to laugh, that he could still find the good in things. It was rather scandalous to him, feeling so new, feeling so different. It was a blessing.
"I think you've taken mentally ill," Varia replied, touching him gently. Sparks flew upon their touch, small, glowing lights, like a thousand fireflies scattering all around them, fluttering wildly and freely.
As soon as he stood, they vanished.
Coughing, from the very corner of the room made him turn to see. An old woman, laying on the floor in a greyed and frayed old gown, hair as grey as the old world, wrinkled skin, wrinkling ever more. Grisella looked awful, lying there, helpless as she was. The commandant of the army of the witches, clever, almighty powerful, and yet so weak, on the very verge of death. He could smell it in the air, he could see it like a black aura wafting off of her. His new eyes could see things before, he could see everything she was feeling flowering in the air around her.
Kneeling down beside her, taking her frail old hand in those last few seconds, he smiled.
And she seemed to understand, her thin lips pursing gently, yet smiling at him. A nice, sweet, genuine smile that sent shivers over his body because, for once, Marcus felt fine.
And something unexpected happened.
Small, white freckles of light clouded her, him, everything. Gently, like small nibbles, they spread up from her old, wrinkled hand, up her arm, her chest, her legs, neck, and head, bathing her in luminescence. To the touch, they glowed her skin, splashed it with youth, tightening her, and on the very verge of death, she slipped back.
Grisella Galdersleeve was, in her youth, a splendid and beautiful beast to behold. And he could see that as clear as if she was in her late teen years, lying there on the cold stone floor. Her hair, once a greying dark brown, was white and shimmering, her skin tighter, paler, ghostly. Her eyes, once black and impure, were now milky and soft. The third of their kind was born.
"Marcus, what are you doing to people?" Varia asked, her eyes not moving from her reflection in the thick glass walls. Staring at herself over and over, mouth agape, touching her long, silky, hip-length hair of silver, double-checking that her eyes were still as white as ever, nipping at her skin to see if her blood remained lily-white.
She was having trouble transitioning.
"I think it is a gift," he murmured softly, standing away from Grisella as she rose up anew, youthful and beautiful, strong and fierce as ever.
"I look like... like... a monster," Varia told herself.
"You were always a monster, now you are..." It took him a moment to think of the right word, and yet, when it came to him, it slipped off of his tongue so easily. "Pure."
"You cheeky little shit! I look like a mongrel, an impure, disgusting little thing. My hair, my beautiful red hair! I look like a cross between an old woman and an elf, life could not possibly be worse! How horribly unfabulous!"
"On the contrary," Grisella spoke up, "I find it astonishing." Her voice was newer too, cleaner. "We are born anew, in his image, almost as though he is... a god."
Marcus scoffed at that word. How he loathed it. Inside, he felt the same, just more... pure. He felt cleaner, fresher, he felt nothing weighing on his shoulders, no inner fight from his darkness - just one single strand of charcoal hair. He finally had control over himself.
And with one single, gentle touch, he had the power to erase entire physical make-ups, to change people into newer, better things. Silverlings.
"I'm not a god. I think it's just magic," he spoke up. "I think that, this entire time, everyone believed I was so powerful and dark because my body was changing. Everyone assumed my darkness was taking control when my body was just expelling it, reacting to it."
"I believe the word you are looking for his evolution." The voice was hard like stone, and croaky, and from a man in the corner. A grey man, grey as a statue, with bagged eyes and a horribly mysterious aura.
"Sir Ivan Tsoviksi, this is Marcus Mallow," Grisella introduced them.
The old stone ork managed to stand on his feet, his wounds healed, his eyes passing over the dead form of Cortenza di Zoarchi, the dignitary of the elves. "What happened to this one?" he asked.
"The impact of his change must have frazzled her," Varia explained. "Now, this, I was not expecting. In the hundreds of years that the orks have studied mankind, this has never happened. Change has never happened."
"You believe it is evolution?" Varia asked. "It is not evolution. It is simply magic, this has nothing to do with whatever you orks practice behind closed doors. What is it that orks actually do, anyway?"
"Very well. You should know that we orks have no magical capabilities," Ivan began. "There is magic, and then there is science. We experiment and observe, we study things in order to understand them, because once you understand them, you can do anything with them. We can replicate ourselves, we have devices beyond magical comprehension. We call it technology. Now, I don't mean to be a burden, but it appears to me that this boy is no longer in need of my assistance."
"Do not overstay your welcome, then," Varia spat at him, more angry with herself than with him. She did not like what she had become.
"Very well." In the blink of an eye, he was gone. And it was not like magic, it was like... science. Whatever that was.
"Science. What a useless thing. Dull. Boring. Magic is much more fun," Grisella said decidedly.
"Agreed," Varia snapped, folding her arms stroppily.
"What is this? What is going on he-MARCUS!" An old woman with hair like bright lilac candy floss tumbled into the room, and as soon as her eyes bore onto her grandson, she immediately recoiled, slamming against Darius who followed behind her. Her hand moved to her heart, desperately clutching at it like it was the final thread of her existence.
"Granny Elisai?"
"What've these filthy creatures done to you?" she gasped, swiping from her belt her sharpened steel sword, flying it in all directions like a mad old lady. "Reverse it, foul ones!"she screamed at Varia and Grisella, her sword pointing from one to the other repeatedly, flashing them awful glares.
"Grandmother, stop!" Marcus demanded, but the old woman refused to put down her arms.
"I promised your mother I'd bring you home safely, not like some foul-blooded monster! Whatever you have done, witches, you shall reverse, or fear the wrath of the Rocky Pass!" the frantic old woman screamed.
Varia laughed. "Mankind always were so backwards," she chuckled. In a wave of her hand, the steel dribbled away and fell to the floor in small, thick white droplets. Every splatter on the floor left a sprinkle of lilies in its place.
"You disgusting animals! Magic is sin!"
"Magic is pure!" Varia screamed in response. "Marcus will show you."
And he did, he grabbed her arm with great force, and the sparkles sprouted around them. The elderly lady gasped, retreated her hand as far from the glittering white fireflies as she could, but found that she could not escape them. Screaming and writhing, trying to whack them off of her, she ran from the room in fright, and collapsed to the floor with bright white hair and pale, luminescent skin.
"Granny?" Marcus asked, staring out of the door frame, passed Darius, onto the frail old woman lifting herself from the ground.
Her reflection was pristine in the pale glass walls of the palace, and immediately upon seeing herself, she wailed. She wailed so loud, so horribly, that the entire hallway began to crack and creak. Her entire being rejected the change, her hair and skin paled and blackened, dripping like hot tar. The glass walls and ceilings cracked and splintered, slowly falling shard by shard, until the wail sent a rain of sharpened shards of glass down on her.
Death by a thousand cuts, she did not survive.
And inside, Marcus wished that he had felt saddened by her passing, but he did not. She was offered purity, she was offered a better life, and yet she rejected it, her entire body physically repulsed it. The force of such unimaginable power passing through her veins, and her body was overwhelmed with disgust, and so it expelled the magic, it blackened her to a crisp, it melted her
She not only rejected magic, though. She rejected him, everything he was, she thought it was disgusting and foul, a mistake, she wanted to take him back to the cess-pit of a village. And that was the very last place he wanted to be. He was finally free, he would never allow himself to be once again burdened by the ignorance of mankind.
But a boy with hair as black coal stood in the doorway, stunned by collapsed hallway. The damage was futile and reverberated weakly around the palace, yet Darius was still stunned. Dressed in old black dungaree overalls - the garb of important men in Purgador - he turned to face him, their eyes instantly connecting.
Immediately, they both felt it. A panging inside of them, in the deepest, darkest corners of their souls, they felt it emanating from them. As soon as their eyes met, the entire room smashed. The glass of the walls blasted outwards, the entire palace rippled and splattered and crumbled, sending everything shooting away. The entire city melted, the hundreds of thousands within its walls dropping to the floor.
Great white waves splashed out from them, sending them shooting into the air like shining white stars, and like stars, they fell, crashing down back into that same room, now a wide empty space surrounded by flattened fields of white grass as far as the eye could see.
Bodies scattered the field, Varia, Grisella, Darius, the last of the three witch queens, all of them, every witch for miles lay on the floor. Heads were white like milk, skin, eyes, everything was white. Even Darius's shocking black hair now shone like silver under the sun, and in the very core of it, stood Marcus.
His hands outstretched, and lifted into the skies, sending massive bolts of lightening down from the heavens, summoning the very essence of the gods crashing down. Every spot the lightening whipped, rose great shimmering shards of glittering whiteness to replace the palace he had destroyed. Shining like a thousand, thousand stars, clawing at the sky, stood a new, bright, white and gleaming palace.
Purgador was undoubtedly gone forever, and as everyone rose from the ground to see themselves, they were stunned. They bowed around him, praising him like he was the high holiness of the gods incarnated, even the queen of the witches sent him a light smile, despite destroying the capital city of her kingdom.
Within days, Marcus was granted the new city by Queen Violet, and the great fields of gleaming white grass for as far as the whiteness went became under his control, albeit to his chagrin. The truth was that this entirely new kingdom was being thrown onto him, a tiny kingdom, a home for those who had become pure.
It turned out that the great waves of whiteness that had sent thousands into a state of change had collapsed in on itself after scattering outwards for a hundred miles, turning everything and everyone within that space to pure Silverlings. Thus was the land granted to him.
Shortly after, Queen Violet left the new kingdom they began calling Silverspears, after the great spears of the new capital city once known as Purgador. She fled to the nearby witch city of Saigador that remained outside of the grasp of silver, and within a month that city became the Witchlands' new impregnable capital, and thus her enemies remained quiet.
Silverspears became a place of balance, it brought balance and justice to the world. Everyone who lived there was pure and almighty powerful, and although a small kingdom, it held great power. It lead the liberation of the Rocky Pass and the other small corners of the earth that mankind existed on. These liberations captured the remains of mankind and brought them to Silverspears, whereupon they were offered new lives. Obviously, some refused, but mankind once again flourished - this time, not under immorality and injustice, ignorance, murder, plunder, and rape.
The world had balance, and for Marcus, everything finally felt okay.
He had the love of his life, Darius, at his side, through thick and thin, through everything, he always had him. Sitting on their great white thrones as kings, they both felt truly complete, together. And happy. And on those same thrones, they ravaged each other like animals. On their thrones, in their beds, chairs, balconies, highest towers, corridors, hallways, everywhere they could find. They fucked. And they fucked unbelievably deliciously.
Because Marcus understood that, with someone as beautiful and loving as Darius, sex was one of the greatest things he could ever have. And yes, they had it often, and wildly, repeatedly, over and over. Forever.
And ever.
And.
Ever.
AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND FUCKING EVER AND THEN THE END BECAUSE I SAID SO BECAUSE I'M THE ENCHANTER AND NOW IT'S FINALLY FUCKING OVER AND AT THIS POINT I AM SO UNBELIEVABLY DONE WITH THIS STORY.
ARE YOU GLAD IT ENDED SO HAPPILY AND COMFY AND FLUFFY? IDK. MAYBE I'LL COME BACK AND KILL ONE OF THEM OFF, I'M UNDECIDED.
AND I'M FUCKING KIDDING. THIS IS THE VERY, VERY, VERY END. THE FINAL INSTALLMENT, WE ARE DONE, YOU HAVE READ EVERYTHING AND I HOPE YOU ARE FUCKING PLEASED WITH YOURSELF BECAUSE I CERTAINLY WOULDN'T HAVE READ THIS STORY BECAUSE IN MY RAW OPINION IT IS SHIT.
WHATEVER IT'S DONE AND I'M DONE AND I HOPE YOU LIKED IT.
IF YOU WANT TO READ SOMETHING EXQUISITELY SEXY AFTER THIS COCK-BLOCK OF A FINAL CHAPTER, THEN I WROTE A ONE-SHOT ABOUT HOT GAY SEX IN THE DEEP SOUTH OF LOUISIANA AND I'M PROUD OF IT AND YES THERE IS SEX AND ITS SMALL TO READ, SEXY, ALL THAT STUFF, READ IT IF YOU WANT - I'M SURE A FEW OF YOU WANT TO GET OFF ON SOMETHING SO THERE.
www[dot]nifty[dot]org[slash]nifty[slash]gay[slash]highschool[slash]the-thing-about-summer
AND, FINALLY,
WE ARE DONE.
TERMINATED.
GOODBYE.
YOURS' FOREVER,
THE ENCHANTER.
(THIS STORY WILL SELF DESTRUCT IN THREE, TWO, ONE)