And just as the world grew to a climax--their worries about to explode, a man who had been thought to be dead and gone appeared once again, in the very spot that he has been vanished, wearing a full set of armor and carrying an archaic weapon. He began to tell people about a world that he had been sent to: a world of fantasy and excitement, a world where the impossible was completely and utterly possible. His words were taken as nothing but the ramblings of a man that had been through a traumatic experience.
Until others began to appear, talking of magical worlds as well.
Years later, Nicolae, a teen returned a hero, and Wesley, a laze-about turned assassin, have returned back to their previous lives after traversing through different worlds. One plagued with a sense of loss and uselessness; the other finding himself in a world that has moved along without him--out of place. Wielding both skills and powers from realms beyond the ordinary these two are sent to a place where all returnees go: a place where they can learn to adapt to their old yet new society.
A.M.E.R.H. The Academy for Magical Entities Returning Home.
The following are the 3 parts of the prologue.
Return 1: Sentinel
Spoiler! :
My room was exactly as I had remembered it. The bed sheets were rumpled and messy, proof that I had gotten up in a hurry the last morning I had been there. The pillow was skewed slightly, which did not surprise me much. After all, I moved around in my sleep, so I was always liable to wake up in an odd position.
I no longer remembered how I had been when I had woken up that morning, but I do remember that I had a crick in my neck. My computer was no longer on. I suspected that either it had burnt out or that someone had kindly turned it off for me, which could either mean my elder brother or my parents.
My closet was slightly ajar; mostly likely due to one of my attempts to hastily close it. I had been late for my classes. Or rather, I would have most likely been late if I had not disappeared that morning. I never had the chance to exit this room. With a quick scan of the area, I noted that my floor had been cleaned. Last I remembered it had been strewn with clothing and other odd items.
With a quick glance, I noticed the door to my room was closed completely. Whoever had come into this room had closed it for me kindly. I wondered briefly if whoever opened that door expected to see me standing or sitting in my favorite hide away?
No. It could not be. Thinking that would be silly. Sighing, feeling tired, I sat on my bed, setting my sack full of supplies against the bed frame.
I stared down at my hands.
Calloused.
The proof of my hard labor. Of all that I had done in order to protect many, not distinguishing between those that were in danger. Helping anyone who was of need of my assistance. Of my toil and sacrifice. Rough and thick, unlike how they had been many months ago.
Before I had become a defender, my hands had been powerless and soft, much like many others my age. They had been use to only school work, games, and other frivolous activities.
Now, they were hands that had survived many trials; been though countless ordeals. In the middle of those hands, right across the palm, were darkened, toughened strips of leather, almost red with all the blood that soaked into them. I clenched my hands around the straps, feeling their familiar bite into the hardened flesh of my palms. The leather had cut into my hands more than once, each time, needing more and more force to dig into my hands painfully.
Each instance made me stronger. More resilient to the pain.
Beyond my hands, connected to those biting strips of hide, reflecting the light of my lamp weakly, were my two constant companions in battle. My friends who helped me protect all that I held to be dear and stayed with me all the way to my final, brutal encounter. My struggle to reach home once again.
Bucklers.
Two bucklers, each strapped to a separate arm, their dusky silver color so peculiar against the soft blue of my room’s carpet. I turned my arms over to gaze at the shields’ battered fronts. The metal was chipped, scratched and, at some places, partially scorched. We had been through so much together; I could say that these beauties had saved many lives while I wielded them with as much skill as I could manage. In the end, I could not have been more satisfied with the results. Many lives preserved, many kingdoms defended. That was all I could hope for.
Yes.
Kingdoms and armies.
I got up off my bed and walked over to my computer, pressing the on button, the machine hummed to life. I flinched away from it for a moment. It had been too long since I had heard anything electronic without the danger of something attacking me. After a brief moment of reorientation with the world and my computer, I slid into the chair near my desk. After waiting a few moments, I entered my password—still thankfully stuck in my head—and glanced to the corner of the screen.
And slumped into my chair in a defeated manner.
A little more than a year.
I had only been gone for a little more than a year. In that span of time I had grown from my old self into the man I was today. The strength I had gained. The people I had saved. All in the span of a little more than a year.
My mouth moved wordlessly. What could I say?
I had been gone from my home, taken to place full of magic and swords and war. Never once had I had the chance to sit and only relax. I continued to fight and fight, working my way back to my home, fighting and protecting anyone who appeared in my path.
I had even been at the center of wars, ending them for the sake of both parties, helping them thrive. Helping them grow. I had watch towns become cities in weeks. What had felt like an eternity of life and strife was merely only a little more than a year.
I had learned the art of wielding the shield for both those who could not fight for themselves and for the peace that everyone sought to have. And now I was home. A place where there were no wars fought with sword and shield. A place were magic was readily replaced with technology. A place that did not need me to intervene and create peace.
“Now what?”
My first words since I had arrived. Not exactly what I had wanted them to be. If anything I wanted them to have the gratefulness of arriving to the place I had been raised, the world of my birth. I imagined that I would break down and cry tears of joy the moment of seeing all the familiar sights around me. Maybe even dance foolishly in happiness.
But, no. The first thing my mouth uttered were not words of gratitude or joy. They were words of despair. Words that made my chest feel hollow. “Now what?” I mumbled once more, spinning around in my chair and staring at the ceiling, my bucklers clinking against my desk with each turn.
All my blood, sweat, and tears had gone into that other world. I had fought and fought. Protected endlessly. I had met many people. It was like something out of a fantasy novel. The enemies I had battled. The friends I had made. I had even attended the wedding of royalty, serving as the best man of the prince!
I dragged hand down my face, the leather in my palm scraping against my skin as well.
All the sights I had witnessed. Dragons flying across the sky, succubi preying upon men, battalions of men clashing with hoards of monsters.
All those sights.
Now that I had arrived in my home, with all its comfort and normalcy…everything I had experience in that time…seemed so distant. So much like a dream. Like I had been asleep all this time and only now did I wake up.
“Dammit!” I yelled out, bringing one arm down into my desk, cracking the wood and breaking apart my keyboard. It could not have been just a simple dream. I bolted up from my chair and jumped into the small bathroom that was connected to both my room and my brother’s. I stared hard into the mirror above the sink, staring at the man in front of me, praying that I would see what I wished to see.
Chestnut brown hair, once left to its own agenda, now well brushed, since it had grown down to my shoulders in the months that I had been gone, tied in a small, low kind of ponytail…like something out of one of those foreign Victorian age dramas that my mother was so adamant about watching. Warm, gray eyes that search for something amiss. My face, once soft with the comfort of having food whenever I pleased, was now hard and chiseled with both strength and masculinity. And in place of a soft torso, unused to exercise of any sort was now covered in a breastplate, a muscular shape underneath.
How many days had I spent shaping myself into this? How many days of fierce training at the hands of a knight did I endure in order to have the skill that both my body and my hands had engraved into my form? I could not remember.
My arms hung loose by my side, shields held in place by a strap around my hands and around my forearm.
I swallowed.
I was still the same as I had been when I last studied myself in that world. It was not a dream.
“Thank god.” I sat down on the toilet and raked my hands through my hair. It was not a dream. I had really done all that. It was not just a little flight of fancy that I had had. But….
But.
That did not change the fact that I was in a world that did not need me. Or at least, it did not need me the way that I was. What good could I do the world, knowing only down to fight and protect? Wars were fought with guns. My shields could do little against firearms like that. And the way that I had learned to serve and protect would garner a charge of excessive defense.
What else could I do? There was nothing here for me.
“…”
I leaned forward, my head sinking low and my eyes focusing and blurring repeatedly as I stared at floor.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What could I do…? What coul—
In an instant, I shot up from the toilet, throwing my left arm up as the door to the bathroom was slammed open and a metal club—no, it was a baton—was aimed at my head. A sharp crack came from the baton striking metal and I drove the edge of my right buckler into my attacker’s stomach. The man flew back, falling in front of the bed in the room. “Urgh…” The man moved to curl up, but pushed himself off the floor and glared at me instead. “Get out of my brother’s—Nicolae?”
“…Sergei?” I stopped in front of him, arm raised to smash a shield in his head. “What…?”
“Nicolae?!” My Brother, Sergei, hopped off the floor and wrapped his arms around me in a crushing embrace. My brother lifted me up off the floor, light armor and all, and laughed. “Nicolae! Is it really you, Nicolae?” He set me down. His height of six feet, four inches stood tall over me, who stood at an average five-eight.
“No, it couldn’t be! You were so weak, before!” Sergei was military trained, fit and built like a fridge, someone I would not have been able to compete with a few months ago. “You hit me so hard you threw me back!” he laughed, giving me a quick once over. “Look at you now! Are you trying to make me look bad? I wonder if our parents will even recognize you anymore!” I was not nearly as bulky as my brother, but thanks to my stay in that other realm, I was built quite well.
“And what are these?” He knocked a fist of his against one of my bucklers.
I grinned at him and lifted one arm up and assumed a fighting stance. “My weapons. They are better than any sword.” I lowered my guard and stood proudly. “You have no idea what I’ve done back in that other world, Sergei. I have been through so much. I have much to tell you.” I grabbed his arm and gave it an affectionate, brotherly squeeze. “I wonder if you will even believe me.”
Sergei snorted. “After I saw you disappear, I’ll believe anything you can tell me.” His grin turned softer and congenial. “It’s good to have you back, brother.” He brought me back into a hug; I wrapped my arms around him, bucklers and all and squeezed back.
“Yes. I know.”
His arms squeezed even tighter around me, like he was afraid to let go. “But…I will have to report you to A.M.E.R.H, just like the others. You can’t stay here. You can’t remain at home, as muc has it pains me to say it.”
I stared at the wall in front of me, looking at a poster of a swimsuit model—my brother’s treasure poster and something that had not changed with this world, and closed my eyes. I see. Yes. There was something left for me here. I was not completely without purpose.
“Yes. I know.”
I no longer remembered how I had been when I had woken up that morning, but I do remember that I had a crick in my neck. My computer was no longer on. I suspected that either it had burnt out or that someone had kindly turned it off for me, which could either mean my elder brother or my parents.
My closet was slightly ajar; mostly likely due to one of my attempts to hastily close it. I had been late for my classes. Or rather, I would have most likely been late if I had not disappeared that morning. I never had the chance to exit this room. With a quick scan of the area, I noted that my floor had been cleaned. Last I remembered it had been strewn with clothing and other odd items.
With a quick glance, I noticed the door to my room was closed completely. Whoever had come into this room had closed it for me kindly. I wondered briefly if whoever opened that door expected to see me standing or sitting in my favorite hide away?
No. It could not be. Thinking that would be silly. Sighing, feeling tired, I sat on my bed, setting my sack full of supplies against the bed frame.
I stared down at my hands.
Calloused.
The proof of my hard labor. Of all that I had done in order to protect many, not distinguishing between those that were in danger. Helping anyone who was of need of my assistance. Of my toil and sacrifice. Rough and thick, unlike how they had been many months ago.
Before I had become a defender, my hands had been powerless and soft, much like many others my age. They had been use to only school work, games, and other frivolous activities.
Now, they were hands that had survived many trials; been though countless ordeals. In the middle of those hands, right across the palm, were darkened, toughened strips of leather, almost red with all the blood that soaked into them. I clenched my hands around the straps, feeling their familiar bite into the hardened flesh of my palms. The leather had cut into my hands more than once, each time, needing more and more force to dig into my hands painfully.
Each instance made me stronger. More resilient to the pain.
Beyond my hands, connected to those biting strips of hide, reflecting the light of my lamp weakly, were my two constant companions in battle. My friends who helped me protect all that I held to be dear and stayed with me all the way to my final, brutal encounter. My struggle to reach home once again.
Bucklers.
Two bucklers, each strapped to a separate arm, their dusky silver color so peculiar against the soft blue of my room’s carpet. I turned my arms over to gaze at the shields’ battered fronts. The metal was chipped, scratched and, at some places, partially scorched. We had been through so much together; I could say that these beauties had saved many lives while I wielded them with as much skill as I could manage. In the end, I could not have been more satisfied with the results. Many lives preserved, many kingdoms defended. That was all I could hope for.
Yes.
Kingdoms and armies.
I got up off my bed and walked over to my computer, pressing the on button, the machine hummed to life. I flinched away from it for a moment. It had been too long since I had heard anything electronic without the danger of something attacking me. After a brief moment of reorientation with the world and my computer, I slid into the chair near my desk. After waiting a few moments, I entered my password—still thankfully stuck in my head—and glanced to the corner of the screen.
And slumped into my chair in a defeated manner.
A little more than a year.
I had only been gone for a little more than a year. In that span of time I had grown from my old self into the man I was today. The strength I had gained. The people I had saved. All in the span of a little more than a year.
My mouth moved wordlessly. What could I say?
I had been gone from my home, taken to place full of magic and swords and war. Never once had I had the chance to sit and only relax. I continued to fight and fight, working my way back to my home, fighting and protecting anyone who appeared in my path.
I had even been at the center of wars, ending them for the sake of both parties, helping them thrive. Helping them grow. I had watch towns become cities in weeks. What had felt like an eternity of life and strife was merely only a little more than a year.
I had learned the art of wielding the shield for both those who could not fight for themselves and for the peace that everyone sought to have. And now I was home. A place where there were no wars fought with sword and shield. A place were magic was readily replaced with technology. A place that did not need me to intervene and create peace.
“Now what?”
My first words since I had arrived. Not exactly what I had wanted them to be. If anything I wanted them to have the gratefulness of arriving to the place I had been raised, the world of my birth. I imagined that I would break down and cry tears of joy the moment of seeing all the familiar sights around me. Maybe even dance foolishly in happiness.
But, no. The first thing my mouth uttered were not words of gratitude or joy. They were words of despair. Words that made my chest feel hollow. “Now what?” I mumbled once more, spinning around in my chair and staring at the ceiling, my bucklers clinking against my desk with each turn.
All my blood, sweat, and tears had gone into that other world. I had fought and fought. Protected endlessly. I had met many people. It was like something out of a fantasy novel. The enemies I had battled. The friends I had made. I had even attended the wedding of royalty, serving as the best man of the prince!
I dragged hand down my face, the leather in my palm scraping against my skin as well.
All the sights I had witnessed. Dragons flying across the sky, succubi preying upon men, battalions of men clashing with hoards of monsters.
All those sights.
Now that I had arrived in my home, with all its comfort and normalcy…everything I had experience in that time…seemed so distant. So much like a dream. Like I had been asleep all this time and only now did I wake up.
“Dammit!” I yelled out, bringing one arm down into my desk, cracking the wood and breaking apart my keyboard. It could not have been just a simple dream. I bolted up from my chair and jumped into the small bathroom that was connected to both my room and my brother’s. I stared hard into the mirror above the sink, staring at the man in front of me, praying that I would see what I wished to see.
Chestnut brown hair, once left to its own agenda, now well brushed, since it had grown down to my shoulders in the months that I had been gone, tied in a small, low kind of ponytail…like something out of one of those foreign Victorian age dramas that my mother was so adamant about watching. Warm, gray eyes that search for something amiss. My face, once soft with the comfort of having food whenever I pleased, was now hard and chiseled with both strength and masculinity. And in place of a soft torso, unused to exercise of any sort was now covered in a breastplate, a muscular shape underneath.
How many days had I spent shaping myself into this? How many days of fierce training at the hands of a knight did I endure in order to have the skill that both my body and my hands had engraved into my form? I could not remember.
My arms hung loose by my side, shields held in place by a strap around my hands and around my forearm.
I swallowed.
I was still the same as I had been when I last studied myself in that world. It was not a dream.
“Thank god.” I sat down on the toilet and raked my hands through my hair. It was not a dream. I had really done all that. It was not just a little flight of fancy that I had had. But….
But.
That did not change the fact that I was in a world that did not need me. Or at least, it did not need me the way that I was. What good could I do the world, knowing only down to fight and protect? Wars were fought with guns. My shields could do little against firearms like that. And the way that I had learned to serve and protect would garner a charge of excessive defense.
What else could I do? There was nothing here for me.
“…”
I leaned forward, my head sinking low and my eyes focusing and blurring repeatedly as I stared at floor.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What could I do…? What coul—
In an instant, I shot up from the toilet, throwing my left arm up as the door to the bathroom was slammed open and a metal club—no, it was a baton—was aimed at my head. A sharp crack came from the baton striking metal and I drove the edge of my right buckler into my attacker’s stomach. The man flew back, falling in front of the bed in the room. “Urgh…” The man moved to curl up, but pushed himself off the floor and glared at me instead. “Get out of my brother’s—Nicolae?”
“…Sergei?” I stopped in front of him, arm raised to smash a shield in his head. “What…?”
“Nicolae?!” My Brother, Sergei, hopped off the floor and wrapped his arms around me in a crushing embrace. My brother lifted me up off the floor, light armor and all, and laughed. “Nicolae! Is it really you, Nicolae?” He set me down. His height of six feet, four inches stood tall over me, who stood at an average five-eight.
“No, it couldn’t be! You were so weak, before!” Sergei was military trained, fit and built like a fridge, someone I would not have been able to compete with a few months ago. “You hit me so hard you threw me back!” he laughed, giving me a quick once over. “Look at you now! Are you trying to make me look bad? I wonder if our parents will even recognize you anymore!” I was not nearly as bulky as my brother, but thanks to my stay in that other realm, I was built quite well.
“And what are these?” He knocked a fist of his against one of my bucklers.
I grinned at him and lifted one arm up and assumed a fighting stance. “My weapons. They are better than any sword.” I lowered my guard and stood proudly. “You have no idea what I’ve done back in that other world, Sergei. I have been through so much. I have much to tell you.” I grabbed his arm and gave it an affectionate, brotherly squeeze. “I wonder if you will even believe me.”
Sergei snorted. “After I saw you disappear, I’ll believe anything you can tell me.” His grin turned softer and congenial. “It’s good to have you back, brother.” He brought me back into a hug; I wrapped my arms around him, bucklers and all and squeezed back.
“Yes. I know.”
His arms squeezed even tighter around me, like he was afraid to let go. “But…I will have to report you to A.M.E.R.H, just like the others. You can’t stay here. You can’t remain at home, as muc has it pains me to say it.”
I stared at the wall in front of me, looking at a poster of a swimsuit model—my brother’s treasure poster and something that had not changed with this world, and closed my eyes. I see. Yes. There was something left for me here. I was not completely without purpose.
“Yes. I know.”
Spoiler! :
I stumbled into my room falling onto my knees, trying to grab onto anything and everything. My foot caught on the edge of the rug that I had out, right next to the small table that I had in my room. Actually, no. I didn’t have that thing out, who the hell put that there?
I didn’t have much time to ponder that, as I fell forward and slammed painfully on the floor, the impact jarring my body and a fresh wave of pain burst through my midsection. Dammit.
Controlling my breath, I pushed my body up with one arm as the other pressed against my side, hoping to stop the bleeding from the knife wound I had received just a few moments ago. The sticky, dripping feeling of blood filled my palm and I could feel the fluid ooze past my fingers. Shit. Shit.
My eyes squeezed shut as I pushed on the wound. I hissed in pain but endured it. Like hell I was going to die right when I got back to my own world. It would just be a disgrace to myself and the people that had helped me get here. They had sacrificed so much to get me home; I wasn’t about to call it quits.
As calmly as I could, I steadied my breathing and closed my eyes. This was no time to get riled up and panicked. “Ethros. Saliwon. Ganthruo.” I mumbled between breaths, the barked out a scream of pain as the spell coming from my palm lit my entire being on fire.
Figuratively, of course. Who the hell would literally want to make themselves burst into flames?
Seconds later, the pain fled my body and the blood stopped oozing from my wound.
A wound that no longer existed.
“Damn.” I spat out, standing up, probably looking like a newborn foal trying to get up on his legs for the first damn time. “And I always thought healing magic would feel cool and refreshing.” I remembered how much of a Mikuru it had been to be healed for the first time in my life. Video games lied about things like that. Or maybe everyone in video games were all bad-assess, never screaming in pain when they were healed.
I wasn’t made of the stuff that made heroes. Nah.
Patting where the wound had been, I growled lowly, remembering where the not-so-unfatal wound had come from.
Alphonse, that two-faced PuppyofaMikuru. At the very least, I never hid my intentions when I wasn’t going to help anybody. If I wasn’t going to be of service, well, I’d just wave and walk off without a single ‘adios amigo’. If I was helping, I’d stick around.
Alphonse, though. That asswipe wasn’t as honest as me. He had stabbed me just as I got to the gate leading back home. I turned my back, reach forward, and then got about four inches of cold metal in the side. I don’t know if anybody else had witnessed the act, but I was hoping they did and were giving the Itsuki what for. Heh. Listen to me. Talking like some old crusty British idiot from old cartoons. Doubt they did though. Alphonse was good at killing. Even better at making sure that nobody else found out.
That skill of his was pretty useful sometimes. When there was no way out of a situation, but fighting or assassinating, Alphonse was the guy to do it. He didn’t hesitate a single instant when it came to shedding blood. Heck, he didn’t even question the who or why, just give the order and, schwink!, off with their head. Or a knife in their spleen or whatever.
‘Course, that didn’t exactly make you feel at ease. I’d seen him turn on members of our little group who had betrayed us, killing them the moment he learned of their treachery. Just up and gutted them like fish. He was reliable. But, at the same time, unpredictable.
I knew that, but, damn; I never thought he was going to turn on me. “Asshole.” I growled rubbing my painless side. He was good at killing. But I bet he didn’t know I had learned healing magic a few days ago. Probably thought that I was going to get home with the wound and friggin’ die like a dog on the floor of my house.
After all, Alphonse never failed at killing. First time for everything, yeah? “Showed him.” I smirked. Yeah. Maybe it was good thing Mabel had bullied me into some simple healing magic lessons. Though maybe the whacks to the back of the head weren’t needed.
“Meh.” I sighed, tossing a sack from my shoulder on to the floor. “Home sweet home. At least I made it back.” I grinned up to look at my old room. Fluffy pink bed. Posters of some guy—most likely a celebrity. And a girly looking purple Dell laptop on a desk, all dolled up with stickers. Just as I remembered it.
Yeah. No.
“What?” I looked around the place in a bit of a mild shock. Ooookay. This obviously wasn’t my room. Unless of course I had suddenly lost my shamisen and was now a idolizing, love struck twelve year old who wore…fuzzy size seven slippers.
I threw said slippers back onto the floor after picking them up to see what the tag said about their size. Damn. Things had suddenly changed. Who the hell had taken over my room? Or rather, what had happened while I was off in another world? As far as I knew there was some new cult revolving around a boy idol…or maybe he was some sort of pop singer or whatever?
“There’s too many damn posters.” I whistled lowly. This was impressive. How had they gotten so many posters? And how the hell did they stand seeing his disgustingly perfect teeth and dead eyes looking right at them every single day of their life? And I mean, the posters were EVERYWHERE. They were even on the ceiling.
And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it a little creepy to have a pillow of his face? And was that lip gloss on it? Ick.
I had to get out of here before the oddness of this situation made me want to upchuck all over the soft pink rug on the floor…actually, maybe giving it a different color might be for the best.
Nonononononono.
Before I literally take that thought into consideration, I dash from the room into a familiar hall. Yeah. Yeah. My house’s second floor hall way. I could tell that it was my houses hallway by one thing and one thing only. It was the embarrassing picture of me as my child and my father standing at the end of a dock, a huge-ass trout in our hands.
The me in the picture was beaming with joy, pushing the trout’s tail up into the air, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks. My dad was the same, holding onto the upper half of the fish. I glanced at the photo and shook my head, grinning.
As a kid, my hair had been buzzed to my head; but now, I had it in a slightly shaggy state. It was wavy and black, something you wouldn’t have really known when I was a kid. And those brilliant green eyes of mine…well, they weren’t green any more. I lifted my hand to my eye and traced around it. Now, the color of aquamarine stained my eyes. It was…a simple side effect of my misadventures in that other world. I remembered briefly that my mother had always said my eyes were her favorite shade of green.
I wondered how she would react when she saw my eyes now. Would she take one look at them and wonder if I was really her son? If I was someone impersonating the young man that had disappeared that afternoon? Nah. Nah. That couldn’t be right? Sometime as simple as eye color couldn’t kill the bonds of a mother and son.
I was just overthinking things.
Now…what to do? What was the first thing that I promised myself that I was going to do after I got back home? It was something that I had been reminding myself about over and over again since I had first appeared in Lukresia, the other world I had spent time at. What was it? In all the excitement of me getting stabbed and appearing in some freaky boy shrine—which in fact was my room, but I had no idea how it had come to that—I had forgotten about that promise. What was it? I knew that it was important to me so…
growl
Ah. Right. Food. Actual easy access. Little to no effort to cook. And not to mention, calories galore. “Yes!” That was it!
I made little time to get to the kitchen, taking note that the house seemed empty, still as spotless as I remembered; my mom being a bit of a neat freak when it came to the kitchen. If anything was out of place, she’d give everyone, even if your weren’t guilty of said crime, a good scolding and wouldn’t let us go until she thought we understood what she was trying to tell us. After sometime, the scolding kind of grew to be the same material over and over again and I could literally follow each of her lectures word by word, often predicting what she was going to say before she said it.
Ah, memories.
Still, I hit the fridge the moment I walked right into the kitchen. I was going to eat and eat till I couldn’t eat no more and then I was going to eat more than that! The food back on Lukresia was good, sure, but it often took a bit of time to prepare it and even then it wasn’t up to snuff to the fattening and flavor rich food that we had in our modern day. Or maybe I was just a junk food junkie, I dunno.
Either way, I wasn’t being very picky. I grabbed Tupperware filled with leftovers and threw them expertly on the kitchen table a few feet behind me and snagged some deli meats, stuffing them into my mouth, the cold meat tasting like heaven. “Mmm…” I hummed in pleasure. I slammed the fridge closed and got to work on devouring the leftover I had chucked on the table.
Lasagna, cold roasted chicken, meatloaf, pizza; basically anything that you can imagine being left in the fridge for someone else’s benefit later. I didn’t even bother with heating the food up. What would be the use of making it warm when it was already so good when cold? I just munched and munched, filling my gullet with cuisines I hadn’t had since I had been ported away to Lukresia.
As I ate, the sudden need to drink something appeared as though it had been lying in wait all this time. A piece of a French roll with roast beef in hand I moseyed over to the icebox again and pulled out a carton of orange juice. I tilted my head back and began to chug from it freely. Horrible manners all around, I know—but, hey, when you were dying to have a taste of something you’ve wanted to have after such a long time, you don’t really hold back, now do you?
I mean, hell, it’s like when you don’t drink water after for-freaking-ever and then go to take a drink, you don’t really stop till your stomach’s full off water, and even then you kinda want some more. Well, at least there wasn’t anyone around to see me eating like a pig.
“Wesley?”
“Son?”
Huh?
I glanced to my right to see my parents standing at the door way of the kitchen, both wearing outing clothes, and a gold bag slung over my dad’s shoulders. It looks like they just got back from going out on a trip or whatever. I should have heard the front door open, but I guess I was too into eating to hear anything, but the sweet call of food. So much for all that training Machias had put me through to always be aware of my surroundings.
Not wanting to be rude, I gave them a little wave. “Yo. Long time no see.” And then went back to chugalugging my juice. Damn, this was good.
“I…wha…” My mother began to speak, her face going from a look of shock to one of relief.
My father put a hand on her shoulder. “…Son, is this really you? You’ve been gone for…three years now. Are you really Wes?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, ‘s me. If you don’t think it’s me, you can ask me anything. I’ll answer truthfully.” I stopped for just moment and looked at them. “By the way, who moved into my room? It looks like a living nightmare. Whoever’s in there needs to get their brain checked. They’ve got these posters of this guy there…er…it looks like a stalker’s room. Really. Get them checked.” Juice again….nope, ran out. “Damn.” I opened the fridge and leaned back in, finding a can of coke. Eh, not much of a cola fan, but it’ll do for now. I popped the tag and took a swig feeling the carbonic acid at work. Yep. Still didn’t like it. I glanced back at my parents. They stared at me in a weird mix of relief and disbelief.
“What?” I peered at the fridge. “Want some?”
“Wes…um, son, it’s just…the fridge…”
“Oh, what? I shouldn’t have raided it? Sorry, I was kinda hungry after getting back. You have no idea how much better food tastes on this side. Everything else over there took effort to cook.”
“You see…” My father cleared his throat. “Aren’t you excited to see us again after all this time?”
What? I swallowed another gulp of soda, grimacing slightly as the bubbles burned my throat. “Well. I mean, I guess. It’s nice to see you guys and all that, but I was only gone for…what’d you say, three/five years? It’s not like I thought you guys were dead or anything. ‘Sides I always knew I was going to get back home, no matter what and—” I was cut off as my mom basically tackled into me, wrapping her arms around me and beginning to sob a little. Ah, sheesh. I didn’t think this was that big of a deal. “Hey, Mom.” I said softly, rolling my eyes a bit, though grinning. I returned her hug as she rocked her body back and forth, hugging me tighter.
“Wesley. My baby…” Oh, for the love of...I felt my cheeks grow warm as I glance over at Dad. He was wiping the corners of his eyes with his thumb. I opened my arms and beckoned him over. The big guy was just holding back on the hug. He took my offer and wrapped up both me and mom in a singled tight family group hug.
“We missed you, Son.”
As I hugged them both back…I suddenly remembered that we were missing one person from this sappy T.V. special moment. Probably that person was responsible for the creepy shrine in my room. Or what once had been my room.
“Moooom. You said you were gonna come back over and help me out with the groceries!” With impeccable timing, my final family member walked right into the room. My younger sister, Cassandra. She appeared at the door way, fingers flying over a device that I could safely assume was a cell phone—one with those little keyboards, making it easier to text. “And Sherry wants to know if I can go and sleep over at her pl—holy shit.” She looked up from her phone and dropped it the moment she saw me. The device fell and clattered on the ground. “Oh. My. God. Wes?”
I grinned at her and waved. “‘Sup, kiddo.” She definitely grew while I was gone, heck, I almost couldn’t compare her to the sweet little nine-year-old that I had been playing with before I had gone zip! into another world.
Her first words to me failed to be anything heartwarming. “Mom…does this mean I have to him back his room?”
I didn’t have much time to ponder that, as I fell forward and slammed painfully on the floor, the impact jarring my body and a fresh wave of pain burst through my midsection. Dammit.
Controlling my breath, I pushed my body up with one arm as the other pressed against my side, hoping to stop the bleeding from the knife wound I had received just a few moments ago. The sticky, dripping feeling of blood filled my palm and I could feel the fluid ooze past my fingers. Shit. Shit.
My eyes squeezed shut as I pushed on the wound. I hissed in pain but endured it. Like hell I was going to die right when I got back to my own world. It would just be a disgrace to myself and the people that had helped me get here. They had sacrificed so much to get me home; I wasn’t about to call it quits.
As calmly as I could, I steadied my breathing and closed my eyes. This was no time to get riled up and panicked. “Ethros. Saliwon. Ganthruo.” I mumbled between breaths, the barked out a scream of pain as the spell coming from my palm lit my entire being on fire.
Figuratively, of course. Who the hell would literally want to make themselves burst into flames?
Seconds later, the pain fled my body and the blood stopped oozing from my wound.
A wound that no longer existed.
“Damn.” I spat out, standing up, probably looking like a newborn foal trying to get up on his legs for the first damn time. “And I always thought healing magic would feel cool and refreshing.” I remembered how much of a Mikuru it had been to be healed for the first time in my life. Video games lied about things like that. Or maybe everyone in video games were all bad-assess, never screaming in pain when they were healed.
I wasn’t made of the stuff that made heroes. Nah.
Patting where the wound had been, I growled lowly, remembering where the not-so-unfatal wound had come from.
Alphonse, that two-faced PuppyofaMikuru. At the very least, I never hid my intentions when I wasn’t going to help anybody. If I wasn’t going to be of service, well, I’d just wave and walk off without a single ‘adios amigo’. If I was helping, I’d stick around.
Alphonse, though. That asswipe wasn’t as honest as me. He had stabbed me just as I got to the gate leading back home. I turned my back, reach forward, and then got about four inches of cold metal in the side. I don’t know if anybody else had witnessed the act, but I was hoping they did and were giving the Itsuki what for. Heh. Listen to me. Talking like some old crusty British idiot from old cartoons. Doubt they did though. Alphonse was good at killing. Even better at making sure that nobody else found out.
That skill of his was pretty useful sometimes. When there was no way out of a situation, but fighting or assassinating, Alphonse was the guy to do it. He didn’t hesitate a single instant when it came to shedding blood. Heck, he didn’t even question the who or why, just give the order and, schwink!, off with their head. Or a knife in their spleen or whatever.
‘Course, that didn’t exactly make you feel at ease. I’d seen him turn on members of our little group who had betrayed us, killing them the moment he learned of their treachery. Just up and gutted them like fish. He was reliable. But, at the same time, unpredictable.
I knew that, but, damn; I never thought he was going to turn on me. “Asshole.” I growled rubbing my painless side. He was good at killing. But I bet he didn’t know I had learned healing magic a few days ago. Probably thought that I was going to get home with the wound and friggin’ die like a dog on the floor of my house.
After all, Alphonse never failed at killing. First time for everything, yeah? “Showed him.” I smirked. Yeah. Maybe it was good thing Mabel had bullied me into some simple healing magic lessons. Though maybe the whacks to the back of the head weren’t needed.
“Meh.” I sighed, tossing a sack from my shoulder on to the floor. “Home sweet home. At least I made it back.” I grinned up to look at my old room. Fluffy pink bed. Posters of some guy—most likely a celebrity. And a girly looking purple Dell laptop on a desk, all dolled up with stickers. Just as I remembered it.
Yeah. No.
“What?” I looked around the place in a bit of a mild shock. Ooookay. This obviously wasn’t my room. Unless of course I had suddenly lost my shamisen and was now a idolizing, love struck twelve year old who wore…fuzzy size seven slippers.
I threw said slippers back onto the floor after picking them up to see what the tag said about their size. Damn. Things had suddenly changed. Who the hell had taken over my room? Or rather, what had happened while I was off in another world? As far as I knew there was some new cult revolving around a boy idol…or maybe he was some sort of pop singer or whatever?
“There’s too many damn posters.” I whistled lowly. This was impressive. How had they gotten so many posters? And how the hell did they stand seeing his disgustingly perfect teeth and dead eyes looking right at them every single day of their life? And I mean, the posters were EVERYWHERE. They were even on the ceiling.
And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it a little creepy to have a pillow of his face? And was that lip gloss on it? Ick.
I had to get out of here before the oddness of this situation made me want to upchuck all over the soft pink rug on the floor…actually, maybe giving it a different color might be for the best.
Nonononononono.
Before I literally take that thought into consideration, I dash from the room into a familiar hall. Yeah. Yeah. My house’s second floor hall way. I could tell that it was my houses hallway by one thing and one thing only. It was the embarrassing picture of me as my child and my father standing at the end of a dock, a huge-ass trout in our hands.
The me in the picture was beaming with joy, pushing the trout’s tail up into the air, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks. My dad was the same, holding onto the upper half of the fish. I glanced at the photo and shook my head, grinning.
As a kid, my hair had been buzzed to my head; but now, I had it in a slightly shaggy state. It was wavy and black, something you wouldn’t have really known when I was a kid. And those brilliant green eyes of mine…well, they weren’t green any more. I lifted my hand to my eye and traced around it. Now, the color of aquamarine stained my eyes. It was…a simple side effect of my misadventures in that other world. I remembered briefly that my mother had always said my eyes were her favorite shade of green.
I wondered how she would react when she saw my eyes now. Would she take one look at them and wonder if I was really her son? If I was someone impersonating the young man that had disappeared that afternoon? Nah. Nah. That couldn’t be right? Sometime as simple as eye color couldn’t kill the bonds of a mother and son.
I was just overthinking things.
Now…what to do? What was the first thing that I promised myself that I was going to do after I got back home? It was something that I had been reminding myself about over and over again since I had first appeared in Lukresia, the other world I had spent time at. What was it? In all the excitement of me getting stabbed and appearing in some freaky boy shrine—which in fact was my room, but I had no idea how it had come to that—I had forgotten about that promise. What was it? I knew that it was important to me so…
growl
Ah. Right. Food. Actual easy access. Little to no effort to cook. And not to mention, calories galore. “Yes!” That was it!
I made little time to get to the kitchen, taking note that the house seemed empty, still as spotless as I remembered; my mom being a bit of a neat freak when it came to the kitchen. If anything was out of place, she’d give everyone, even if your weren’t guilty of said crime, a good scolding and wouldn’t let us go until she thought we understood what she was trying to tell us. After sometime, the scolding kind of grew to be the same material over and over again and I could literally follow each of her lectures word by word, often predicting what she was going to say before she said it.
Ah, memories.
Still, I hit the fridge the moment I walked right into the kitchen. I was going to eat and eat till I couldn’t eat no more and then I was going to eat more than that! The food back on Lukresia was good, sure, but it often took a bit of time to prepare it and even then it wasn’t up to snuff to the fattening and flavor rich food that we had in our modern day. Or maybe I was just a junk food junkie, I dunno.
Either way, I wasn’t being very picky. I grabbed Tupperware filled with leftovers and threw them expertly on the kitchen table a few feet behind me and snagged some deli meats, stuffing them into my mouth, the cold meat tasting like heaven. “Mmm…” I hummed in pleasure. I slammed the fridge closed and got to work on devouring the leftover I had chucked on the table.
Lasagna, cold roasted chicken, meatloaf, pizza; basically anything that you can imagine being left in the fridge for someone else’s benefit later. I didn’t even bother with heating the food up. What would be the use of making it warm when it was already so good when cold? I just munched and munched, filling my gullet with cuisines I hadn’t had since I had been ported away to Lukresia.
As I ate, the sudden need to drink something appeared as though it had been lying in wait all this time. A piece of a French roll with roast beef in hand I moseyed over to the icebox again and pulled out a carton of orange juice. I tilted my head back and began to chug from it freely. Horrible manners all around, I know—but, hey, when you were dying to have a taste of something you’ve wanted to have after such a long time, you don’t really hold back, now do you?
I mean, hell, it’s like when you don’t drink water after for-freaking-ever and then go to take a drink, you don’t really stop till your stomach’s full off water, and even then you kinda want some more. Well, at least there wasn’t anyone around to see me eating like a pig.
“Wesley?”
“Son?”
Huh?
I glanced to my right to see my parents standing at the door way of the kitchen, both wearing outing clothes, and a gold bag slung over my dad’s shoulders. It looks like they just got back from going out on a trip or whatever. I should have heard the front door open, but I guess I was too into eating to hear anything, but the sweet call of food. So much for all that training Machias had put me through to always be aware of my surroundings.
Not wanting to be rude, I gave them a little wave. “Yo. Long time no see.” And then went back to chugalugging my juice. Damn, this was good.
“I…wha…” My mother began to speak, her face going from a look of shock to one of relief.
My father put a hand on her shoulder. “…Son, is this really you? You’ve been gone for…three years now. Are you really Wes?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, ‘s me. If you don’t think it’s me, you can ask me anything. I’ll answer truthfully.” I stopped for just moment and looked at them. “By the way, who moved into my room? It looks like a living nightmare. Whoever’s in there needs to get their brain checked. They’ve got these posters of this guy there…er…it looks like a stalker’s room. Really. Get them checked.” Juice again….nope, ran out. “Damn.” I opened the fridge and leaned back in, finding a can of coke. Eh, not much of a cola fan, but it’ll do for now. I popped the tag and took a swig feeling the carbonic acid at work. Yep. Still didn’t like it. I glanced back at my parents. They stared at me in a weird mix of relief and disbelief.
“What?” I peered at the fridge. “Want some?”
“Wes…um, son, it’s just…the fridge…”
“Oh, what? I shouldn’t have raided it? Sorry, I was kinda hungry after getting back. You have no idea how much better food tastes on this side. Everything else over there took effort to cook.”
“You see…” My father cleared his throat. “Aren’t you excited to see us again after all this time?”
What? I swallowed another gulp of soda, grimacing slightly as the bubbles burned my throat. “Well. I mean, I guess. It’s nice to see you guys and all that, but I was only gone for…what’d you say, three/five years? It’s not like I thought you guys were dead or anything. ‘Sides I always knew I was going to get back home, no matter what and—” I was cut off as my mom basically tackled into me, wrapping her arms around me and beginning to sob a little. Ah, sheesh. I didn’t think this was that big of a deal. “Hey, Mom.” I said softly, rolling my eyes a bit, though grinning. I returned her hug as she rocked her body back and forth, hugging me tighter.
“Wesley. My baby…” Oh, for the love of...I felt my cheeks grow warm as I glance over at Dad. He was wiping the corners of his eyes with his thumb. I opened my arms and beckoned him over. The big guy was just holding back on the hug. He took my offer and wrapped up both me and mom in a singled tight family group hug.
“We missed you, Son.”
As I hugged them both back…I suddenly remembered that we were missing one person from this sappy T.V. special moment. Probably that person was responsible for the creepy shrine in my room. Or what once had been my room.
“Moooom. You said you were gonna come back over and help me out with the groceries!” With impeccable timing, my final family member walked right into the room. My younger sister, Cassandra. She appeared at the door way, fingers flying over a device that I could safely assume was a cell phone—one with those little keyboards, making it easier to text. “And Sherry wants to know if I can go and sleep over at her pl—holy shit.” She looked up from her phone and dropped it the moment she saw me. The device fell and clattered on the ground. “Oh. My. God. Wes?”
I grinned at her and waved. “‘Sup, kiddo.” She definitely grew while I was gone, heck, I almost couldn’t compare her to the sweet little nine-year-old that I had been playing with before I had gone zip! into another world.
Her first words to me failed to be anything heartwarming. “Mom…does this mean I have to him back his room?”
Spoiler! :
The room was dark, as it always was when there wasn’t a need to entertain an audience. What was the point of illuminating the area? There was nothing there, for the most part; the room was empty, not a single thing standing in the way of anyone from walking right ahead until they reached a wall. Anyone could walk through this room and not experience any difficulties when moving. This wasn’t just bluster and exaggeration. Many had actually done so—walked from one side of the room and back, easy and simple as that. The room was that empty.
Yet, not completely so.
In the heart of the room sat an object whose form was obscure, yet clear—almost as though it were contradicting its own existence. Wooden desks were brought together, clumped on top of one another, their legs warping around the other, metal melting into a neighboring frame, and wood cracking under the pressure of weight, but holding together in spite of this fact. Out of this tangled mess of aluminum alloy and lumber, one could see a distinct shape of what it was trying to represent, of what the chaos truly was.
A throne. A twisted throne made of something that enslaved others to their own monotony—to the comfort of routine and complacency. An idiosyncratic throne that showed that the one who took it as their seat would not bow to the common tedium that others enjoyed.
And it was he who was settled in the middle of the chaos. It was he who defied the norm that other people wished to have. It was he who exalted in his own presence, who knew of the greatness he possessed and of the many nations that had bowed under his heel of his boot. They were not worthy, but he allowed them to do so. He was the man that had returned as a leader. A man who had held the fate of an entire world in his palm. He who crushed countries for the sake of his own amusement. He who received all he desired, either by will or by might.
He was the Bloody Earl, the Fire of Conquest, and the Unstoppable Immolation.
The Emperor had taken his throne.
He sat as he did every evening when sleep eluded him. When his insomnia teased and stole sleep from his eyes. He felt comfort in this makeshift cathedral; it reminded him of the golden seat of power that he had left behind many years ago to return to this world. He had been satisfied with his conquest then. He needed much more than just a comfortable life of a sovereign. What he had truly ached for was the thrill of victory. Of taking what he wished when he was opposed. Opposition. That…that was what he wanted. Of taking nations in the heat of battle. Of war. Of steel. Of blood. And of the pilfered spoils.
He sat in a position of silent thought, head resting on his fist, leaning forward in his throne. However, this was more of a relaxed pose for him. And it allowed him to easily play with his pet, who sat at the foot of his throne.
Tonight’s creature was small, but not in a way that displayed total youthfulness. Even in the complete darkness of the room, he could still make out its figure and features. The pet was of small stature, but their face betrayed their true age—in the adolescence of its life. Pretty, with blonde hair. Clear, green eyes. Sitting in front of him, their legs tucked under them, a nightgown covering their body and the customary red choker that all his delightful treasures wore. Tonight’s pet was a young fox creature…either a youko or an inari or some other fox creature, he could never tell the difference. They all had fox-like ears and tails. And all of them were beasts when he wanted them to be.
His hand caressed the top of her head lovingly, fingers trailing through the golden locks of hair and teasing the base of her ears, the velvety fur contrasting with the silkiness of her tresses. He especially liked this girl, she was almost always readily available to appear before him, and stroking her head eased his thoughts. And she didn’t seem to dislike the touch of his hand either; her eyes closed, a small smile on her face, and the six tails behind her wiggling in their own rhythm. This night however, the petting wasn’t quite enough to expunge his wandering thoughts.
Perhaps a bit of physical exertion would help, he thought, his eyes wandering over his pet’s figure. He had tasted the pleasures of her body many times…still he didn’t tire of her. Yes, perhaps tonight would be a good night to lose his thoughts in heat and pleasure, rather than on his throne…or maybe…here on his throne didn’t seem like such a terrible notion.
He didn’t wish to return to his room and having her here on his throne would be an exhilarating experience. The thought of being discovered sent a shiver of excitement up his spine. And she wouldn’t disagree; she never denied him anything. “Madeline…” He whispered, taking the girl’s cheek in his palm, he tilted her head up to meet his eyes. A look of comprehension filling her eyes as her cheeks began to grow flushed.
Before he could voice his demand, the door leading to the room was jarred open noisily and footsteps followed after. He lifted his gaze from the girl at the foot of his throne, to the figure of a young girl approaching him. Her hair the color of the finest silver and her small red eyes trained on the throne and its occupant. “…Serina. I’m hoping that you’re bringing me important news. It’s rare that I let anyone waltz in here uninvited, even you.”
The girl nodded, her shoulder length hair swaying slightly, revealing the small pointed ears her hair usually covered. The grey cowl she wore trailed behind her, moving in time with her steps. Each of her strides was followed by the of click of the leather heels of her white boots, and the light-looking black gauntlets on her arms contrasted oddly with the white sundress she wore, a grey ribbon tied in a bow around her neck. “I have news about two new returnees.”
That piqued his interest. “Do you now? What are they like?” New returnees meant new conflict, more people to crush underfoot. Serina knelt down in front of the throne, much as a knight would to his king; while Madeline backed away from the throne, walking to one of the far sides of the room, just out of earshot. It wasn’t in a pet’s place to overhear her master’s conversation unless ordered to stay.
Serina paused for a moment before speaking again. “One…is from Russia. And the other is from the United States. And there have been interesting reports of their arrivals.”
“Go on.” His words gentle. He stood up and walked to stand in front of Serina.
“The reports say that the gate released a great magical energy when they crossed back over. More than what has been recorded before in any other appearances. It seems like they have produced even higher signatures than you. If the two of them were to come together and challenge you, they could very well topple over the rule that you have crea—”
Before she could finish talking, her tongue was suddenly seized between his middle and forefingers, the digits squeezing down on the warm pink muscle. His narrowed his eyes. “I see,” he murmured. Silently, he rubbed his fingers around the tongue, watching how it wriggled with his caresses, trying to break free from his grip. A thin strand of saliva connected Serina’s tongue to the roof of her mouth; it was easily broken by a soft movement of his finger.
“Such a pretty little tongue you have, Serina.” With his thumb, he rubbed the corner of her small red lips, noting the softness, how one was slightly fuller than the other and the minor glossiness they had. “It would be a shame for you to lose it—ah!” He retraced his hand away as the girl’s teeth sunk into his flesh, but not as far as to draw blood. Marks were left on his skin as he glared down at a still solemn Serina.
“You wouldn’t dare.” She stated matter-of-factly. “You need me. If I wasn’t around, you’d get too bored for your own good. I keep you in place.”
A grin of amusement spread on his face. It was true.
Serina did keep him amused, since what he craved the most was opposition. It was no secret that Serina held no real love for him and only kept her post as his right hand for the sake of finding an opening in his defenses and possibly killing or restraining him. There had been many times that she had made attempts on his life when he had lowered his defenses and relaxed.
She kept him tense and ready for anything. He had learned to do so around the girl; his failures to acknowledge this fact had cost him dearly, he had many scars to prove it. It was such fun to have one of your greatest foes as one your trusted advisors. Such a thrill. “Heh. True. I would miss the emotionless banter you grace me with.” He gently wiped the spittle on his pants. He would have used a shirt had he been wearing one.
Serina yawned a little. “Now if you excuse me, my lord, I will be heading to bed.” Without waiting for his permission, Serina stood up and began to walk out of the room, her cloak fluttering behind her.
“Serina.” She stopped advancing and glanced over her shoulder. “You never fail to cure my insomnia. Thoughtful as always, aren’t you?” With a quick glare, Serina closed the gap between her and the door. “Good night,” He chuckled as the door closed loudly.
“M-my lord?” Madeline spoke for the first time that night from her side of the room. “Um…will you be needing me any longer?”
His eyes moved slowly to the girl. He no longer needed to fear the insomnia that had plagued him; he no longer needed to tire his body to sleep. “I…will still have you, if that’s what you’re asking me.” He stood from his throne, gesturing for the fox-woman to approach.
He didn’t need her, he was already comforted by the thought of new opposition coming to the place he resided in. New blood. New battles. New turmoil. These were the most comforting thoughts for him. No more monotony. No more of people kowtowing to his power. There would be struggle, strife, and violence; something any emperor would welcome.
He grinned as he embraced his companion, stroking her hair and slipping one hand to the straps at her shoulders.
He no longer required Madeline.
But it was a master’s duty to be affection to his pet.
Yet, not completely so.
In the heart of the room sat an object whose form was obscure, yet clear—almost as though it were contradicting its own existence. Wooden desks were brought together, clumped on top of one another, their legs warping around the other, metal melting into a neighboring frame, and wood cracking under the pressure of weight, but holding together in spite of this fact. Out of this tangled mess of aluminum alloy and lumber, one could see a distinct shape of what it was trying to represent, of what the chaos truly was.
A throne. A twisted throne made of something that enslaved others to their own monotony—to the comfort of routine and complacency. An idiosyncratic throne that showed that the one who took it as their seat would not bow to the common tedium that others enjoyed.
And it was he who was settled in the middle of the chaos. It was he who defied the norm that other people wished to have. It was he who exalted in his own presence, who knew of the greatness he possessed and of the many nations that had bowed under his heel of his boot. They were not worthy, but he allowed them to do so. He was the man that had returned as a leader. A man who had held the fate of an entire world in his palm. He who crushed countries for the sake of his own amusement. He who received all he desired, either by will or by might.
He was the Bloody Earl, the Fire of Conquest, and the Unstoppable Immolation.
The Emperor had taken his throne.
He sat as he did every evening when sleep eluded him. When his insomnia teased and stole sleep from his eyes. He felt comfort in this makeshift cathedral; it reminded him of the golden seat of power that he had left behind many years ago to return to this world. He had been satisfied with his conquest then. He needed much more than just a comfortable life of a sovereign. What he had truly ached for was the thrill of victory. Of taking what he wished when he was opposed. Opposition. That…that was what he wanted. Of taking nations in the heat of battle. Of war. Of steel. Of blood. And of the pilfered spoils.
He sat in a position of silent thought, head resting on his fist, leaning forward in his throne. However, this was more of a relaxed pose for him. And it allowed him to easily play with his pet, who sat at the foot of his throne.
Tonight’s creature was small, but not in a way that displayed total youthfulness. Even in the complete darkness of the room, he could still make out its figure and features. The pet was of small stature, but their face betrayed their true age—in the adolescence of its life. Pretty, with blonde hair. Clear, green eyes. Sitting in front of him, their legs tucked under them, a nightgown covering their body and the customary red choker that all his delightful treasures wore. Tonight’s pet was a young fox creature…either a youko or an inari or some other fox creature, he could never tell the difference. They all had fox-like ears and tails. And all of them were beasts when he wanted them to be.
His hand caressed the top of her head lovingly, fingers trailing through the golden locks of hair and teasing the base of her ears, the velvety fur contrasting with the silkiness of her tresses. He especially liked this girl, she was almost always readily available to appear before him, and stroking her head eased his thoughts. And she didn’t seem to dislike the touch of his hand either; her eyes closed, a small smile on her face, and the six tails behind her wiggling in their own rhythm. This night however, the petting wasn’t quite enough to expunge his wandering thoughts.
Perhaps a bit of physical exertion would help, he thought, his eyes wandering over his pet’s figure. He had tasted the pleasures of her body many times…still he didn’t tire of her. Yes, perhaps tonight would be a good night to lose his thoughts in heat and pleasure, rather than on his throne…or maybe…here on his throne didn’t seem like such a terrible notion.
He didn’t wish to return to his room and having her here on his throne would be an exhilarating experience. The thought of being discovered sent a shiver of excitement up his spine. And she wouldn’t disagree; she never denied him anything. “Madeline…” He whispered, taking the girl’s cheek in his palm, he tilted her head up to meet his eyes. A look of comprehension filling her eyes as her cheeks began to grow flushed.
Before he could voice his demand, the door leading to the room was jarred open noisily and footsteps followed after. He lifted his gaze from the girl at the foot of his throne, to the figure of a young girl approaching him. Her hair the color of the finest silver and her small red eyes trained on the throne and its occupant. “…Serina. I’m hoping that you’re bringing me important news. It’s rare that I let anyone waltz in here uninvited, even you.”
The girl nodded, her shoulder length hair swaying slightly, revealing the small pointed ears her hair usually covered. The grey cowl she wore trailed behind her, moving in time with her steps. Each of her strides was followed by the of click of the leather heels of her white boots, and the light-looking black gauntlets on her arms contrasted oddly with the white sundress she wore, a grey ribbon tied in a bow around her neck. “I have news about two new returnees.”
That piqued his interest. “Do you now? What are they like?” New returnees meant new conflict, more people to crush underfoot. Serina knelt down in front of the throne, much as a knight would to his king; while Madeline backed away from the throne, walking to one of the far sides of the room, just out of earshot. It wasn’t in a pet’s place to overhear her master’s conversation unless ordered to stay.
Serina paused for a moment before speaking again. “One…is from Russia. And the other is from the United States. And there have been interesting reports of their arrivals.”
“Go on.” His words gentle. He stood up and walked to stand in front of Serina.
“The reports say that the gate released a great magical energy when they crossed back over. More than what has been recorded before in any other appearances. It seems like they have produced even higher signatures than you. If the two of them were to come together and challenge you, they could very well topple over the rule that you have crea—”
Before she could finish talking, her tongue was suddenly seized between his middle and forefingers, the digits squeezing down on the warm pink muscle. His narrowed his eyes. “I see,” he murmured. Silently, he rubbed his fingers around the tongue, watching how it wriggled with his caresses, trying to break free from his grip. A thin strand of saliva connected Serina’s tongue to the roof of her mouth; it was easily broken by a soft movement of his finger.
“Such a pretty little tongue you have, Serina.” With his thumb, he rubbed the corner of her small red lips, noting the softness, how one was slightly fuller than the other and the minor glossiness they had. “It would be a shame for you to lose it—ah!” He retraced his hand away as the girl’s teeth sunk into his flesh, but not as far as to draw blood. Marks were left on his skin as he glared down at a still solemn Serina.
“You wouldn’t dare.” She stated matter-of-factly. “You need me. If I wasn’t around, you’d get too bored for your own good. I keep you in place.”
A grin of amusement spread on his face. It was true.
Serina did keep him amused, since what he craved the most was opposition. It was no secret that Serina held no real love for him and only kept her post as his right hand for the sake of finding an opening in his defenses and possibly killing or restraining him. There had been many times that she had made attempts on his life when he had lowered his defenses and relaxed.
She kept him tense and ready for anything. He had learned to do so around the girl; his failures to acknowledge this fact had cost him dearly, he had many scars to prove it. It was such fun to have one of your greatest foes as one your trusted advisors. Such a thrill. “Heh. True. I would miss the emotionless banter you grace me with.” He gently wiped the spittle on his pants. He would have used a shirt had he been wearing one.
Serina yawned a little. “Now if you excuse me, my lord, I will be heading to bed.” Without waiting for his permission, Serina stood up and began to walk out of the room, her cloak fluttering behind her.
“Serina.” She stopped advancing and glanced over her shoulder. “You never fail to cure my insomnia. Thoughtful as always, aren’t you?” With a quick glare, Serina closed the gap between her and the door. “Good night,” He chuckled as the door closed loudly.
“M-my lord?” Madeline spoke for the first time that night from her side of the room. “Um…will you be needing me any longer?”
His eyes moved slowly to the girl. He no longer needed to fear the insomnia that had plagued him; he no longer needed to tire his body to sleep. “I…will still have you, if that’s what you’re asking me.” He stood from his throne, gesturing for the fox-woman to approach.
He didn’t need her, he was already comforted by the thought of new opposition coming to the place he resided in. New blood. New battles. New turmoil. These were the most comforting thoughts for him. No more monotony. No more of people kowtowing to his power. There would be struggle, strife, and violence; something any emperor would welcome.
He grinned as he embraced his companion, stroking her hair and slipping one hand to the straps at her shoulders.
He no longer required Madeline.
But it was a master’s duty to be affection to his pet.