#aka grabbing someone from the bottom of a 12 feet pool

[dustydaydreamer]

"being a lifeguard is fun" they said, chlorine dripping from their nostrils

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 12

[ And so the journey begins.  Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously.  Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine?  Please Like, Share, and Follow us!   We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] -  Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

[ R ] - Raven

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ L. K ]   Once the door was demolished and sent flying out into the other part of the crypt they would notice something very interesting indeed; the blood was gone.  The previous room that was where the massive head had been was empty and all that remained was a simple stone room with a stairway up.

The group had no time for delay, they had to move quickly, and since the stairs were no longer a sliding board the would have no problem getting out.  Once they reached the top the would notice that the sky was black and the massive tentacle worms were flying across the sky.

Take to the trees.  The group raced away from the crypt in an attempt to put some distance between them and the horrible place.  But once they were finally safely away from their hell on earth; the reality sunk in.  What would they do now.

“We need a place to stay, somewhere we can repair and heal.  Raven needs energy, and Marseille needs some serious medical attention.  And it’s about time that boy got a proper meal.  We can’t return to Quelthalas, if we do it will spell disaster.  We all look like convicts.  And we need to make contact with survivors....Siida...”.  

Lazarius eyes narrowed as he clenched them tightly.  Losing both sisters.  He was certainly a mess.

[ R ]   The redheaded woman was unresponsive in Lazarius’ hold. Her slender form wrapped in cloth that left only hear bare feet and shoulders with bra straps exposed, leaving much to the imagination.

At first, if through the panic and chaos any took notice, one might note beneath the mess of black blood all over her, her skin was darkened and the veins that could be seen were blackened. Her skin had split in some areas, evident by the blotches of black soaked through various points of the cloth.

Was she breathing?

It looked as if Laz returned with a dead body. Not a peep came from her as he clutched and ran holding her. Her thick red hair covering up half-elven ears.

By the time they reached the outside world and were breaking through the tree-line to cover, all of those signs of void corruption had faded from her body and any void she was emitting was dormant.

[ P . K ]   Here he had been. Minding his own business. Cozied up in his small hut within the depths of the Ghostlands. He liked it here. It was oddly peaceful despite the badies within the woods. His favorite tavern was here, too and it made easy trek into the city if he needed supplies. He’d been in this small hut for… too long.

Anytime he began to think about how long his mood soured and he fell into a depression. But not today. He had hunted a lynx that morning, skinned it bare to sell its pelt, then gutted it, readying it for his dinner. Just as he was about to pour himself a steaming bowl of lynx and veggie stew, the rumbling started.

The red head was immediately on edge, tensing, a sense of gloom and doom overwhelming him a moment as memories began flooding back. No, this wasn’t happening. This place of his, this sanctuary he built, it was peaceful here. Then he heard voices over his crackling flame coming from the direction of the crypts.

The few people who would venture that area were usually experiences archaeologists and explorers. And so, his dinner interrupted, the man grabbed his daggers and headed toward that direction. A few minutes later… The red-haired male would easily be seen along the tree line, not hiding himself at all.

He never felt the need to in this area, finding most things barely able to call themselves threats. But what he saw, the mangled group, left him confused.

“What in the bloody. . . is this? Are… are you all o---“

He stopped dead, blinking once, twice,

“Teacup?”

He said quietly, realizing the blonde… was the spirited elf he’d met many months ago. The tall, lanky, tattoo-covered, red-headed elf gaped at the group, seemingly in shock.

[ V . D ]   The fresh air had certainly done wonders to alleviate the tension for both kaldorei and sindorei, Pame shaking from exhaustion with all the consistent excitement... Verzatea was shaking as well, although her shaking more so had to do with the wave of tears rolling down her cheeks as she endured Lazarius's recant of their situation.

Things were looking terribly bleak for them in this moment, and all she could think about was the horrors those in the Bastille must have endured. If it were anything like what their small and disheveled group experienced in the tombs she could only pity those who remained alive. If any did.

But first and foremost the issue of a safe space was a prominent concern before all else. Without a place to rest they could all die here and now in these woods. They were vulnerable bring exhausted, the wounded wouldn't survive long in this chill either... But the stench of ichor and rotting flesh and other unidentifiable offense odors was replaced with a peculiar smell.

Something that tickled an old memory in the far back of her mind... It was then that she'd lift her eyes to inspect the woods, her breath hitching in her throat before Verzatea mentions, her voice a ghost of a whisper as she tried to remember,

"This place... It's familar-- Like walking through a memory."

Only then did the appearance of Kretus stir the two elven women from their state of dismay. Pame stiffened and bore her fangs in a threatening snarl, her grip on Mars tightening-- until Verzatea audibly.gasps in astonishment!

"Kretus!"

She breathes out, relief swelling in her chest to see such a familiar and friendly face,

"By the Shadows, what are you doing this far out?"

Her lip quivers as she stumbles closer, her normally straight blonde hair frazzled and tousled about wildly with blood matting some tresses together. Too her dress skirts were soaked around the bottom of in a similar blood-- fel, everyone was soaked likely.. Resembling the devils rejects no doubt.

[ P . K ]   Kretus immediately moves forward upon her stumble, attempting to sling both arms under hers and tugging her to his chest in order to keep her from falling. Gods, they all looked a hot mess.

“I... live... out here,”

He replies absently to her inquiry as his golden eyes moved to each individual in her party of misfits.

“You all look as if N’zoth himself beat you up and dragged you through a pool of blood.”

[ L. K ]   Lazarius would have probably just burst into attack mode on this stranger; had he not had his hands full with the blanketed Raven.  She was curled up in his arms and he was unable to really do much, but all things considered he would have not given this man a second look if he was free.

"Verzatea, might we focus please. . . I am assuming you know this fire haired country boy. . . introductions can wait."  

He huffed, making sure Raven was secure and calling over to the man.

"While I am all for sentimental reunions; you have hit the nail on the head my friend. . . Oddly square on the head. . . that is exactly what just happened. . . in every sense of the word."

Lazarius would take several steps closer, past Marseille and Pame, around Jursol and her raptors and beside Verza and the boy she carried.  He would look the man square in the eye with those ancient blackened pools.

"We need a place to lay low, recover and take inventory on what exactly we are doing. . ."

He peered toward Verza.

"Familiar how, if you know someone who has a large enough facility for us to find refuge we need it.  We're losing valuable time."

[ J ]   Once outside she took to the trees to move, her raptors remained low but were cunning little fucks. They would easily avoid detection. Following the others in silence as they made their way to their destination. While she did not know where they were going, she fully trusted them.

She had at some point spaces out follows them, before hearing a strange elf yelling. There were no words yet from her as she watched and listened to the other talking. Her eyes glanced at Mars as she moved to help Pame with him.

“He be needin help now.”

Her words were few but she knew Pame understood. Jursol was ready to lend a hand with his wounds, and with a nasty tasting concoction that would help.

[ P . K ]   The red head scowled, mouthing the words, fire haired country boy with a bemused look on his face. As the male came closer, he squinted a moment, locking gazes. Why does he look familiar?

Kretus didn’t have time to ponder nor did he seem startled at Lazarius’ blunt reply of how right he had been on his observation. His Adam’s apple merely bobbed as he swallowed hard, and then he cleared his throat.

“I have a hut nearby with medical supplies, food, blankets, so on and so forth. I just did a supply run to the city two days hence. Come. It’s just a few minutes from here near the river edge....”

[ L. K ]   "I have a man with a missing arm, and teeth marks in his chest cavity. . .have you ever seen a twelve foot tall human head with a centipede body? He was devoured by it. . ."

Lazarius snapped, giving the man a stern look from his blood covered face.

"A comatose boy who has been out cold for several hours and is probably going to need a complete frontal lobe lobotomy. . .and this specimen I have quite literally plucked from an alternate reality who is going to die lest she feed on the raw dark energy of the cosmos. . . .and you've got a 'hut' was it?"

Lazarius peered down at Verza with another glance.

"Don't you have family somewhere around here? You were off for nearly two months visiting them. . . I thought you said the Duskflame Estate was somewhere on the border of the Ghostlands and Eversong. . ."

[ P . K ]   Kretus just stared at the man, hardly phased by the implied insult to his... hut.

“I mean that’s fine. Be on your way then if you have some where better to be. But something tells me my hut with things you will need for a journey is better than what you just described.”

[ V . D ]   Verzatea's shoulders tensed with the haughty and stressed tones, her hands clutching onto the familiar figure of Kretus. She would have pressed her forehead against the gentlemans torso when he first pulled her forth,  but rather than linger in this moment - no matter how she wanted to given it was the safest she'd felt since the tomb - she recalled the severity of the situation. Her eyes glance around then, hissing out:

"Mind your tempers,"

She sighs through her nose, standing up right now and releasing Kretus after a grateful smile was sent his way,

"It id very good to see you again my friend... And once more I must ask your aid-- While your home would be an appreciated opportunity to rest..,"

Tea glances back to offer the group an apologetic stare,

"We cannot linger... Its no guarantee we're out of the woods just yet. Theres another place, one much safer than the middle of the woods-- I just..,"

She glances around, the familiar forest and its natural scents riling those old memories once more... Childhood memories, even, but not enough to navigate the woods blindly,

"I dont know how to get there from here."

Turning to the group Tea remarks hesitantly,

"If we can make it to the North-Eastern most tip between the Ghostlands and Eversong Woods we can gather safely at my childhood home..,"

Glancing over her shoulder she'd peer up toward Kretus to explain,

"You aren't safe in these woods anymore, after having contact with us. Come with us? Lead us, even, since you know these woods well?"

Pame grunts as the weight of Marseille begins to dawn on her tired muscles, huffing out in aggravation,

"Choose quickly."

@siidaraykashebahl

@pyravari-kashebahl

@frompage112

@thebladeitself

@whatadarkbitch

@zandalaridruidofgonk

@miss-irascible

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 13″

[susspirria]

Guiltless - Chapter 2

Fandom: Borderlands

Pairing: Rhys/Handsome Jack (Rhack)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting,Alternate Universe - Serial Killers,Alternate Universe - Soulmates,Human Trafficking,Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con,Forced Prostitution,Child Abuse,Childhood Trauma,Insecure Rhys,Hurt Rhys,Dark Rhys,Shy Rhys,Scared Rhys,Jack being Jack,Jack Feels,Murder Husbands,Murder Kink,Brutal Murder,Hero Worship,Hero Complex,Angst and Hurt/Comfort,Rewrite,Jack Spoils Rhys,Sugar Daddy,Tenderness,Twisted and Fluffy Feelings

Summary: In which, Jack is a transient serial killer who believes himself to be a hero. While he's on the road he runs into his emotionally damaged and fragile soul mate, Rhys. 

Jack is surprised that someone like him would have a soul mate, even someone trapped in such a shady situation as Rhys is. Rhys is surprised that anyone could be so kind to him, but especially a man like Jack.

(AKA a total strip the bones rewrite of my old fic Kismet)

Read more on Ao3 or below the cut :)

The first time that Jack had killed someone, it was more or less an accident. He had been fifteen at the time and living in the glorified hell house that he and his twin brother had grown up in. Their grandmother’s house. Granny Lawrence was a hard woman to please.

She ruled their house with an iron fist and had no issue letting both Jack and Tim know that they were unwanted castaways that she had been forced to deal with. “It’s out of the kindness of my heart that I don’t throw you worthless boys out.” She would say to them often. “It’s because I’m a good christian that I didn’t drop the two of you off a bridge when your worthless mother left you on my doorstep.” She would say, nearly as often.

Jack was pretty sure that there was no god, but if even if a god did exist, she sure as hell wasn’t getting into heaven. He had returned home late in the day that it had happened, he’d been hanging around the outskirts of town – up to no good of course. They lived in a rural town, so, really the only sort of fun that a teenager could get up to was in the middle of the woods or at the bottom of a bottle. He didn’t bring Timothy along, because, really that wasn’t the sort of thing that he liked to do. Timothy didn’t like partying and Jack’s friends made him nervous. He usually preferred to keep to himself, for the most part, writing novels and acting in plays at their school. They might have looked identical but they weren’t the same – Timothy didn’t act like Jack in all the ways that counted. He was a nice and gentle sort of person – he was creative, sensitive and he didn’t go around breaking rules.

Jack thought that, maybe if he had dragged him along, none of this would have ever happened.

When he walked into the house, he could feel that something was off. There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite put a finger on, but instinctively he felt bothered by it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, he knew that something was wrong.

He walked through the threshold of the house and the feeling just got more intense with each and every step that he took forward into the house. Once he was in the living room, he saw exactly what was wrong. Timothy was on his knees, clutching his cheek in pain, their grandmother was behind him holding the rusty and dull buzz saw that she liked to beat them with.

Jack winced when he saw it, briefly remembering the many times that he had been beaten with it before and all of the scars that it left him with, before he felt a deep seated rage at the idea of her hitting Timothy. Hitting Jack was one thing, he could take it and he was used to failing to meet her high expectations. He was used to being punished, even if it was rarely ever fair. And he could handle the pain, he was strong enough to take it – he had always been the stronger one, out of the two of them. He had always been the one that took the blame when either of them did something wrong,

Jack ran up behind her, nearly blind with rage. “Get off of him!” He snapped, running towards her with a speed and determination that he had had no idea he even possessed. He grabbed her by the hair and she let out an inhuman sounding shriek. He dragged her for a bit and threw her into the wall, slammed her head against it once, twice, three times before he finally let her go, his anger quelled. She crumpled into a heap on the floor, blood pooling under hear head. Jack was in such a weird, fuzzy head space that at first, he didn’t realize that she was dead. That he had killed her. The only thought that had been in his mind was that he had to protect his brother – no one else would, especially not Tim.

But Timothy knew what had happened. He had seen it, nearly as soon as she hit the ground. He was frozen with shock and horror, he couldn’t believe that Jack could do something like that, even to someone as horrid as their grandmother. He covered his mouth tightly with his fist in a pathetic attempt to stop himself from vomiting at the sights and smell in front of him. He couldn’t speak in full sentences, couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t do much else but panic.

Jack walked over to him and though he knew that, physically, there was no blood on his hands Timothy could have sworn that he could smell it on his brother the coppery scent in the air sickening to him. Jack put his hands on his shoulders and looked at him with a concerned expression fixed on his face,“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, looking at Timothy strangely, like he couldn’t comprehend the horror in his twins eyes.

Timothy opened his mouth and closed it again,“You killed her.” He blurted out, after a few moments of stunned silence, his tone blank and empty. He thought that he might be going into shock. “Y-you…you fucking…she’s dead.” He repeated the sentiment.

The realization didn’t click for him immediately, that she was dead. He looked over at her corpse and felt next to nothing about it, all the same. In his mind, she was a monster. She was the monster, the devil that had been peeking over their shoulder all their lives, filling them with terror and beating them half to death over small mistakes. 

Jack thought that she got she was deserved, but he didn’t dare say that Timothy, who was all nervous tension and shaky hesitance already. He didn’t want to shake him up anymore and he tried to sooth Tim. “Hey, hey, hey…” He murmured, soothing his thumbs over Timothy’s cheeks in a gentle – nearly paternalistic fashion. “It’s okay… It’s okay, she won’t be able to hurt us anymore.” He hoped that that would have been enough. It wasn’t.

Timothy looked at Jack like he had spouted a second head. “Okay? No. No! This isn’t okay. None of this is okay!” He said, aghast. Then, overwhelmed by everything that had happened he broke out into terrified and ugly sobs. “Jack! You killed her! You… you- why would you…?” He babbled incoherently and wrung his hands until they were sore and raw, to get all the anxiety that he was feeling out. It wasn’t every effective.

Jack didn’t understand why Timothy cared so much. She was evil. She was cruel. She hated them and she would have killed them if she had the chance, through beatings or neglect. “Tim, you don’t… she was going to hurt you.” He said, nonplussed. He walked over to her corpse and picked up the buzz-saw that she usually used to beat him with. He had to pry it from her cold, practically necrotic hands. “With this.” He exclaimed, as if Timothy had no idea and it was damning evidence of her guilt.

Timothy still didn’t look convinced that there was nothing else that Jack could have done to help him, but he didn’t say as much. He didn’t want to argue and not just because of his fear. “Okay…” He said, speaking in a suspicious tone of voice. “What are we going to do now?”

“I’unno. We have to get rid of her I guess.” Jack said, with a shrug and laid back casualty in his tone of voice. This time, Timothy didn’t argue because he had little choice but to help Jack, if he didn’t want to go to jail too. 

They dug a hole 12 feet deep, so deep in the ground that no one would ever find her for years, they had had to dig it all night and all morning nearly non-stop to get it deep enough. It was a good thing that they had lived in a rural area, 

otherwise someone would have noticed – started asking some questions about where their grandmother had gone off to. They grew a garden over her corpse, planted carrots and tomatoes over her grave like she was glorified fertilizer.

Jack never came to regret what he had done. As far as he was concerned, he had killed her because she was a monster and she could have killed Tim and she probably would have if she had had the chance to enact her punishment like she had wanted. 

She was evil and he had done the right thing, bashing her head in. He had saved their lives. He was a hero. He told himself that every night. He was a hero. He was a hero. He. Was. A. Hero.

But Timothy… he didn’t agree, Jack just knew it, even though he wouldn’t say it. He never looked at Jack the same way after that day. He would try to make himself act the same, but it would never be completely right. 

His smiles would be forced and his eyes would be nervous whenever Jack looked upon him. The two of them grew more and more distant over the years and once they were finally old enough to move out of the house they grew up in, Timothy never talked to him again.

He refused to. No matter how many times Jack tried to reach out and reconnect – they were twins after all, it was only natural for him to want to be close with his twin! – Timothy would refuse to so much as even look at him. Because Timothy couldn’t look at Jack anymore without wondering in terror what else Jack might be capable of. Just the thought of it made him feel sick with worry.

While Timothy discovered a monstrousness in his brother, Jack learned something else about himself. He had discovered that there was power in his hands. Power to hurt. Power to help. He could brutalize men and women without a single thought for what that meant about him, about his character or his morals. To him it didn’t matter, whether he would be viewed as a “good person” or a “bad person” because he knew the truth.

In Jack’s mind, he had a gift. A gift that he thought could be used for the greater good. He could make the world a better place, one death at a time. So he made a vow, to himself, that he would each and every monster that walked around, parading themselves in human disguises and wipe them off the face of the earth. And he would keep on killing them, as long as he lived, until his dying breath.

*************************

After Rhys fell asleep in the caravan, he didn’t wake up for nearly three days. Everything that had happened to him over the years had compounded together. All of his experiences, all of his trauma, everything that he had done and been forced to do all mixed together and overwhelmed him to the point that he had become nearly comatose. He didn’t even dream the whole time – it was just blackness for hours upon hours without any interruption. When he finally woke up, it took him a bit to stretch out his limbs and get rid of the stiffness and the aching that he felt deep in his bones.

Rhys walked out of the little room that he had been sleeping in and noticed Jack was sitting in the little kitchenette, with a bit of breakfast laid out – Eggs, toast, coffee, pancakes and little strips of bacon were all spread out on the table. The caravan was still moving, though slowly, and Rhys realized that it must have been self driving. Fancy, he thought. Then he realized just how hungry he was when his stomach started to growl. Loudly.

Jack chuckled a bit at the sight of his soul mate, “Mornin’ pumpkin” He hummed in greeting, with a pleasant smile fixed across his face. “You want some breakfast?” He asked, even though the answer was obvious. Rhys walked over to sit at the table and started serving himself a small portion of all the food. He rarely ate much, he never really had the chance or the freedom to and often he would go days without meals if he didn’t impress Vasquez or any of the other men that he answered to sufficiently.

The two of them ate somewhat quickly and in silence until Jack finally decided to speak up, “How you holding up?” He asked, “…With everything?” He hastily tacked on at the end, remembering that Rhys’ whole life had been some sort of nightmare – even if he didn’t know the full scope and scale of the abuse that his soul mate had suffered in his life, but he knew that he had gone through more pain than anyone as sweet and smart as him ever should.

Rhys pulled his knees to his chest and rest his chin on them, making himself look tiny. “I’m not really sure?” He replied, in a hesitant tone of voice. “It’s all hazy and muddled I guess. It feels good to be free, but how I got my freedom… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Jack moved closer to Rhys and dared to run his fingers through the younger mans’ hair in what he hoped was a gentle and soothing manner. He wasn’t the best with emotions, but he could try to fake it, for Rhys’ sake. “It’s okay, if you’re feeling guilty.” He started, “And if you’re feeling guilty, or even if you’re blaming me for all of this,” He elaborated, tone gentle. “I get that, Rhysie, I really do. But I would never hurt you.” He promised. “And you don’t need to worry about anyone hurting you ever again.”

“No. No, that’s not it. I don’t blame you.” Rhys said, tone sharp as the serrated edge of a dagger, like he was making a concerted effort not to let himself be vulnerable right now. “And I don’t feel bad. At all. And that’s the problem! What kind of person am I, if I don’t care about their deaths…” He added, speaking more to himself than to Jack at this point. “I don’t care though, I’m happy that they’re dead.” His expression morphed to one of worry, he was nearly distraught. “What kind of person does that make me? Even after what they did to me?” He asked.

Rhys was pleading with Jack to help him feel less like a monster. “My kind of person.” Jack muttered to himself, low enough that Rhys couldn’t even hear him. Then he pulled Rhys in close and embraced him both tenderly and possessively. He noticed the way that Rhys clung to him and squeezed him even tighter. “You’re not a monster, baby. They are.” Jack murmured in his ear.

“A-are you sure?” Rhys asked in a voice that was tiny and frightened, completely unsure if that was the truth. “I can’t- I know that they were, that they hurt me, but they were still people. It was wrong.” He stammered out indelicately. His own morals were twisted enough already as it stood and he felt like taking pleasure in that sort of thing made him an even worse person by default.

“Those people hurt you.” Jack told him, not willing to deal with the idea of Rhys blaming himself for the abuse that he faced. “They treated you like dirt, they exploited you and hurt you.” Jack put Rhys’ face in his hands and made Rhys look him in the eye. “You didn’t deserve any of that, you never deserved what they did to you. You know that, don’t you baby?” He asked, genuinely curious if he did.

“I…” Rhys hesitated. He wanted to say that, yes, of course he didn’t deserve to be prostituted and trafficked out since he was too young to understand his own body. But a part of him, a tiny and insidious part of him, that he hated to think about, blamed himself for everything that he had gone through. That part of him that told him that, maybe if he was better behaved, his mother never would have sold him in the first place. He felt like it was his fault. “Yes?” He said, with an insecure lilt around the edges of his tone of voice, finally after moments of thinking it over himself.

It was obvious that Rhys wasn’t completely convinced of his own innocence. Jack responded by kissing him, very gently, on the lips. “Listen, Rhysie, those people – look at me – those fucking monsters who hurt you, they deserved every fucking thing that they got. Matter of fact, they deserved way more than what they got.” He said, voice clear and authoritative. If he had had the time, he would have tortured all of them for hours upon hours for what they had done. That was just a fact.

The younger man felt strangely comforted by Jack’s words and he wasn’t sure if that was because Jack was right, or because Rhys wanted him to be right. “I really want that to be true.” He admitted, in a voice that was incredibly soft spoken, so quiet that Jack wouldn’t have been able to hear him if they weren’t pressed so closely together.

“It is true.” Jack told him, deadly serious, before he decided to change the subject to something a little bit lighter. “Oh! By the way, I got you some new clothes while you were sleeping back there.” He gestured towards a dresser that was fixed to the back wall. “They’re in there. Hope they’re your style.”He added, mostly as a tease. Rhys giggled at that, before a thought crossed his mind and made his stomach turn, just a little bit. He didn’t really know what his style was. He didn’t know what he liked. He didn’t really know what he disliked. Pretty much all of his life, things had been dictated for him, he never had that kind of choice. It was upsetting, having his agency taken from him for pretty much his entire life, but he shook off the thought with the reminder that that was all over now.

He was safe now, he would be happy with his soul mate. He needed to be happy and he clung to the thought that Jack could save him – could fix him and love him, despite how unclean and rotten he always felt – like it was his only hope for survival. In many ways, it was.

Rhys grabbed one of the outfits that Jack had bought for him and headed to the little off shooting bathroom and showered. When he finally returned back to the main area of the caravan, dressed in his new – expensive, nicely fitting clothes, Jack was sitting down with a photo album in hand, looking over it like it was gospel. “What’s that you’re looking at?” Rhys asked, innocent curiosity heavy in his tone. Jack looked up at him and Rhys smiled gently, he motioned for Rhys to sit back down next to him.

Jack put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close, Rhys instinctively cuddled back against him. In the short time that he had known Jack, his soul mate had been overly willing with physical affection and Rhys just loved it. He loved being hugged, he loved having his hair played with, he loved being kissed gently and touched in all the comforting ways that he had always been denied for most of his life. “Ah, just some old photos.” Jack replied, after a moment. “I was thinking about my brother.”

Rhys’ eyes lit up with curiosity, “You have a brother?” Rhys asked and then Jack pointed out a photo of him and someone who looked exactly like him, with their arms around each other and big smiles on their faces. “You have a twin brother?” He corrected himself at the sight of them.

“Yeah, but we’re not really close these days.” Jack replied shortly, “We had a falling out, a while ago, and we don’t talk anymore.” He smiled, but it was tight and it looked to Rhys like there was pain behind his eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it and that was fine. Instead of asking any questions about it, or even speaking at all, Rhys delicately lay his hand over Jacks’ own and squeezed it in a comforting gesture. Jack grinned at him and ducked over to kiss his cheek. “It’s best not to think about it too much.” Jack said, before closing the photo album and putting it away.

And then Jack changed the subject back to Rhys, he wanted to know more about him – he wanted to know every little thing about him, the good things, the bad things. Everything. Rhys was hesitant to be forthcoming, partially because a lot of things about him were either too painful to talk about, or things that he wasn’t really sure of because of the years of captivity that he had suffered.

They came to a compromise – Rhys would talk about himself, or the things he was comfortable sharing about himself, so long as Jack shared some things about himself too. It worked out for the best. Jack found out that Rhys loved ice cream as well as all sorts of sweet things and that he gobbled it up every time that he was allowed it.

He found out that Rhys loved music and that he genuinely enjoyed singing and when he was a child he would sing to the younger kids to comfort them. He found out that Rhys had always wanted tattoos, but that he had never had the freedom to choose how he looked. He found out that Rhys had always been into computers and the newest tech, that he had wanted to get into programming whenever he had the chance.

Jack tried to be as forthcoming as possible, he told Rhys about how he had put himself through school and worked in engineering. He told Rhys about some of his upbringing – that he had grown up in a small town and he was a bit of a hoodlum for most of his teen years. He told him about being picked up by Hyperion right out of college and how lucky he had been to get that leg up in the corporate ladder.

When the subject of Hyperion came up, Rhys was immediately curious about it. Even he had heard about Hyperion, it was one of the leading corporations in the world. They were pioneers in tech, weaponry, prosthesis – basically, anything you could think of. “You’re Hyperion’s CEO?” He asked, marveling a bit at the revelation. “But you’re still so young! That’s incredible.” He gushed adoringly.

Jack’s expression got a bit smug, Rhys probably shouldn’t have been feeding his ego like that, it was dangerous. He thought it was cute anyways. “Yeah, the board loves me.” He explained, “They even booted the jerk ass who ran it back when I was just an engineer on the main floor. It was a risk, I guess, but they took a chance on me.” He added. And it had worked out perfectly for them too, Jack had boosted Hyperion’s profits and growth a hundred fold.

Rhys just couldn’t help but go into fan boy mode. “I heard about all Hyperion growing up. Not everything, you know, they kept us in the dark about pretty much everything that went on outside but…” He started babbling, speaking animatedly with his hands. “

“No, you were being cute.” Jack assured him quickly, before an idea popped up in his head. “I could show you around the headquarters, if you like, when we get to sanctuary.” He looked over to where the caravan’s console was, “Should only be a few more hours, then it’s home sweet home, cupcake!” He added, making a grand gesture with his arms that was reminiscent of a game show host telling him that he had just won a brand new car.

Rhys laughed a bit at that, “So Sanctuary’s your home?” He clarified. “Our home?” He corrected after a moment or two. He and Jack were soul mates, he reminded himself – it still felt so strange to him the mere idea that he would even have a soul mate at all, never mind someone as successful, talented and brilliant as Jack was. To him at least.

Rhys didn’t think that he deserved that sort of fortune or good luck. He didn’t think that he deserved much of anything at all. He thought that Jack was too good for him – that everybody was too good for him, that no one should ever have to be saddled with a broken mess like him. A part of him understood that that was probably a mixture of his own self loathing and the hero worship that he had for Jack – though, in a way, he was Rhys’ hero. Because Jack had, literally, saved him, rescued him from the hellish prison that he had been forced to live in for nearly all of his life.

Jack made a wishy-washy motion with his hand. “Eh, Yeah, pretty much.” He replied, after a few moments. It was only a half truth. Jack had a had a home in every city that had a Hyperion branch in it and at least a dozen or so more safe houses for his other, more discretionary, purposes that Rhys wouldn’t need to worry about. At least not right now. 

But Sanctuary was probably his favorite place to be. He spent a lot of time in Sanctuary, at least when he wasn’t on the road, because Sanctuary happened to be where Hyperion’s base of operations was. He was sure that Rhys might have known that already, given his interest in his company.

“How is it there?” Rhys asked as a strange feeling that was like a mix of anxiety and giddiness began to pool in the pit of his stomach. “Is it nice?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great. You’ll love it there, pumpkin. I practically own the whole fucking town! It’s great.” Jack promised him, tone earnest and honest. “I’ve got this penthouse in the middle of the city with a great view. It’s beautiful…When we get in town, I can show you around the place. Maybe I’ll take you to some shops and I can finally start spoiling you rotten.”

Rhys smiled, “I’d like that.” He said in kind. He hoped that he was right about that. He’d love it if Sanctuary became his new… Sanctuary.

[theycallmebeccawrites]

One Shot: Crossing Lines

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Title: Crossing Lines

Pairing: Chris x reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: language, descriptive sex scenes

Summary: Chris’s best friend comes over to his place following an awful, ended early, first date

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

This story can also be read on AO3

You’re bored out of your mind as you sit across the table from another awful date; this time with a guy you met on a dating site. You’d found him funny online, but there is nothing funny about the cocky asshole now.

“Excuse me,” you say, standing up, suddenly. “I need to visit the lady’s.”

You tuck your wallet purse under your arm and make your way across the restaurant to where the restrooms are. That’s when you run into her; a woman dressed in all black and wearing large black sunglasses the hide her eyes.

“You should leave,” she says, stepping in front of you. “That man you’re with is my husband.”

“What?” You’re taken aback by her words, but then you realize it gives you an out from the worst date of them all. “Sorry, he didn’t say anything. Consider me gone.”

You pass her and go into the kitchen, hoping the fact that the owner’s cousin is one of your best friends will allow you to slip out through the alley. You bypass the dish pit and are almost to the alley door when the owner of the restaurant calls your name.

Turning around, you expect him to be mad, but instead he is holding a pizza in a to go box. “You looked miserable out there,” he says, holding out the pizza box. “I don’t blame you for ditching him.”

“Thanks,” you reply, not wanting to reveal the real reason you’re sneaking out through the kitchen. Judging by the loud voices and a sudden sound of breaking dishes from the dining room, he’ll figure it all out soon enough.

While he leaves to find out what’s going on, you exit the restaurant and walk around the block to your car, very glad you hadn’t taken the asshole up on his offer to pick you up for your date.

After getting into the car and starting it, you tell Siri to call Chris.

“Hello?” his voice greets you seconds later.

“You busy tonight?” you ask, thankful once again for the Bluetooth enabled stereo he’d given you for Christmas last year.

“I thought you had a date.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Just tell me,” he says. “You went to my cousin’s place, right? I’ll hear about it anyway.”

“I’m certain you will,” you reply with a sigh. “Fine. The short version is his wife showed up.”

“What the fuck! That bastard was married!”

“And boring as hell,” you reply. “I left the table to go to the bathroom and his wife met me in the hallway to tell me to get lost.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “This is why you shouldn’t go on those stupid dating sites.”

“How the hell do you suggest I meet guys then?” you ask. “The guys in Boston won’t date me, my dad, my brother and my grandfather are all cops.”

“Maybe you should add that to your profile then.”

You choose to ignore his suggestion and return to your original question, “So, are you busy tonight?”

“Nope. Just hanging out in my apartment.”

“Can I come over? Your cousin gave me a pizza.”

“I’ve got a fridge full of beer and other stuff.”

“I’ll be there in five,” you reply then hit the ‘end call’ button.

A few minutes later, you arrive at his building and take the parking spot of someone leaving. You grab the pizza box and then head up to his apartment, where he is waiting for you in the doorway.

“You look hot tonight,” he says not even trying to hide the fact he is checking you out.

“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” you reply, taking in his relaxed look of a black t-shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans.

He takes the pizza box from you and then leads you into the large, loft apartment that he owns even though he usually spends his time in Boston at his mom’s house.

“So how did I get lucky and find you here tonight?” you ask as you kick off the heels you’d worn.

“My oldest nephew is having a sleepover,” he replies. “I was there earlier, but it was just too much for me and I told my mom I was staying here tonight.”

“Just wait until your niece is old enough to have sleepovers,” you tease.

“I grew up with sisters, I plan to be far, far, far away when that happens,” he states as he puts the pizza box on a kitchen counter. “I have no interest in being tied to a chair so girls can give me a makeover. Been there, done that, don’t need to do it again.”

“Your mom would have pictures of that hidden away somewhere, wouldn’t she?” you ask innocently as you open the box and grab a slice of pizza.

“Probably, but she won’t share them,” he says giving you a ‘don’t even think about it’ glare before opening the fridge and grabbing two beers.

“Maybe not with a stranger, but I’ve been your best friend for -”

You stop talking when you find yourself pressed into the counter by his hard body. Your lick your lips and swallow as your eyes move up his chest and to his handsome face.

“We’ve crossed certain lines in our twenty-five year friendship,” he says, his voice lowering in tone. “But there are still others that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“You’re right,” you say, trying hard to ignore the hardness that is pressed against your lower belly.

He remains pressed against you for another second before he backs off and grabs the pizza box.

You follow him over to the black leather couch and take a seat. He puts the pizza box on the coffee table then drops into the spot next to you. He grabs the bottle opener off the coffee table and pulls the lids off both beers then holds one out to you.

You finish your first slice of pizza and grab a second as he turns on his TV and quickly navigates through different menus. You don’t pay much attention until you see him hit play on “Pretty Woman”, one of your favorite movies.

“We can watch something else,” you tell him.

“You’ve had a shitty night,” he replies as he leans forward and grabs two slices of pizza then stacks them on top of each other.

Having had your fill of pizza, you lean against him and smile when he wraps one of his arms around you. You stay interested in the movie until the scene where Julia Roberts’ character goes down on Richard Gere’s character. It is then that you feel the heat of Chris behind you, feel the way his body feels against yours and remember the hardiness you felt in the kitchen.

“Are you dating or almost dating anyone?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

His eyes meet yours and he shakes his head then verbally answers, “No. No one.”

That’s all the invitation you need since you two had decided last Christmas that you could handle being friends who occasionally fucked. No longer interested in the movie, you turn your body towards him and bite your lower lip before leaning in to him.

His mouth meets yours halfway and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. You love kissing him, because he treats it as an artform; one in which he is well-skilled, or rather, well-practiced because, if you’re being honest, the first kiss the pair of you shared at age 12 was a sloppy mess.

You feel his large hands slide down your back to grab hold of your ass and you allow him to guide the slow, rocking movements of your lower body into his. Then his fingers grab the bottom hem of your dress and pull it up so you’re panty covered sex is pressed directly into the rough denim covering his hard cock.

Pulling away from him, you lean back and locked your eyes to his as you take control of the movements of your hips. He smiles back at you with dilated pupils before shifting without any warning.

You find yourself on your back and staring up at him as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his sculpted torso to your hungry eyes. You can’t help but reach out to touch him, but quickly find your hands being guided, by his, down to the fastenings of his jeans. You quickly undo them then watch as he pulls them down, freeing his hard cock in the process.

As he stands up to remove his jeans, you hurriedly take off your dress and drop it onto the floor, leaving yourself in a black push-up bra and lacy black panties. Your eyes meet his as he lowers himself onto the couch and you bite your lower lip as you undo the front clasp on your bra. His eyes drop to your breasts as you unveil them to him. He licks his lips and then leans down over you.

You arch your back, offering your breasts to him as his mouth finds one and his large hand finds the other. The little hairs of his beard tickle your sensitive skin and his velvety tongue quickly soothes the occasional irritation. He proves his mouth and tongue are skilled in more than just kissing as he makes his way from one breast to the other, showering the skin of your chest and torso with the same attention he does your nipples and breasts.

Heat pools between your legs as he continues his journey down your body and you ache to feel him buried inside of you, but you know he’s going to make you wait. You jump as his fingers touch your through the fabric of your panties and you press your body against him. You glare at him as he smirks back at you while teasing your through the lacy material.

Finally, you feel his fingers on the waistband of your panties and you lift your hips to allow him to remove them. Your eyes follow his hand as he drops the offending fabric on to the floor and then you cock your eyebrow as he grabs the edge of the coffee table and pulls it your direction. Then he places one of your feet on the table, effectively opening your most intimate parts for his viewing.

And view he does. His eyes study your folds and you blush. He licks his lips and then bounces his eyes up to yours to wink at you. Then he begins with delicate, irritatingly deliberate touches to your inner thighs, teasing you.

“Chrisssssss,” you whine.

He teases a little longer before those long, slender fingers finally touch you where you need it the most. Your eyes close as he works you over, slipping his digits through your folds and you arch you back as one of his fingers, slickened by your juices, slides into your sex. Your hips naturally rise and fall in sync with the movements of his hands and you cry out in disbelief when he pulls out.

Then his mouth is on you and your grab hold of his strong, muscular shoulder as his tongue becomes intimate with your sex. Your cries fill the loft as he brings you to the edge of your release and then over the edge, leaving you panting and jello-limbed.

You open you eyes and see him smiling cockily at you as he licks his lips. He’s leaning back on his knees and palming his hard cock, his intentions clear. He gives you another minute to regain your composure before he moves his pointer finger in a circle motion, signalling for you to roll over.

Smiling, you lower your leg from the table and then sit up. You slide your bra off your shoulders, dropping it onto the floor and then you turn around, positioning your knees on the edge of the couch and facing the back of the couch.

You feel one of his hands grab your waist as his other guides his cock into your folds in a single thrust. He gives you a moment to adjust to his girth before his other hand grabs your waist. Your hands cling to the back of the couch as he slides in and out of you, each thrust increasing with speed.

At some point his hands end up on your ass, clinging to your soft cheeks as he slams into you repeatedly. His grunts mingle with your cries and you find yourself biting the throw blanket that is draped over the back of the couch as another orgasm tears through your body. You feel him stiffen behind you and his body jerk as he cums inside of you.

Weak kneed, he pulls out of you and collapses on to the couch, pulling you into his arms in the process.

You wake up sometime later and find yourself enveloped in his arms. The TV has long since turned itself off and at some point Chris has covered you both with the blanket. You snuggle yourself into his chest and breath in his scent that both turns you on and makes you feel at peace and, most importantly, at home.

With your ear pressed against his chest, you can feel his heartbeat and you can’t help but wish that the two of you couldn’t change your “friends with benefits” status into a boyfriend/girlfriend one. You’re not sure when it happened, but you’ve fallen in love with your best friend.

“You think too loud.” His low tone sends vibrations through your body. “Go back to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

You’re not sure you can go back to sleep and then you feel it, his hand on the small of your back. You feel one of his fingers drawing something, but you can’t tell what it is at first. Then he repeats it.

He draws a horizontal line then a vertical line and followed by a second horizontal line.

The letter “I”, you realize.

Your heart pounds as he redraws the second object and you quickly recognize as a heart.

Then he draws a horse shoe like shape that you interpret as the letter “U”.

Then he draws on final thing, two vertical lines in rapid succession. It takes you a minute and then you realize he’s drawn the Roman numeral for the number 2.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

You pull your head away from his chest and look up at him. He stares back at you and then winks at you before closing his eyes. You resettle yourself against his chest, doubting that sleep will come, but you find yourself drifting off as you listen to his breathing slow.

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you’d like to be added!

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 9

[ And so the journey begins.  Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously.  Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine?  Please Like, Share, and Follow us!   We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] -  Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ L. K ]   The group of females were now sealed in a room that was much darker than the last; there was even less natural light due to the fact that they were deeper into the crypt now.  

The floor was still thick with a pool of blood that remained constant no matter where they would be going; and despite the sense of calmness that may have come over them due to the drumming beat of the hearts and the locust swarms coming to an end; they were far from safe.

Suddenly toward the back of the room they were standing in; a pair of torches would ignite in a red blaze of energy about halfway up from bottom of the wall.  The torch sconces were on either side of a hall that led them deeper into the darkness.  

But as they stepped closer toward the opening, another brilliant set of torches just several feet from the last would ignite similarly to the last.  This would progress further and further as the lead person began walking down the chamber.

From the depths of the long red lighted corridor that again was only about 10 feet in height and 12 in length, there was a muffled sound that came across as sounding human.  It echoed from the walls and seemed to surround them as they continued into the lighted hall.

The further they got, the more clear it became.  It was the sound of chanting, a deepened baritone which was being spoken in a language that none of them could understand.  

The closest thing they could make out is that it was a repeatable chant.  The first and third line were matching and the second and fourth were different.

"sanguis autem infirma...."

Their chant would beckon them all closer, deeper into the nightmare that was being presented to them.  The select few that were still alive had no choice but to press on.  With Lazarius and Marseille both gone, it was clear to the group that they would have to end this; or die trying.  There was no going back.

"omne cælum os eius..."

When they reached the end of the very long hall, the final torches would ignite on the exit which led out into an absolutely massive chamber. The burst of light would then begin to ignite the torches all the way around the perimeter of the room, a rhythmic beat to their glow as they encompassed the entire room with their eerie red glow.

"sanguis autem infirma...."

The room was filled with figures; all of which were hooded, cloaked and standing in a gathered group scattered in no real rhyme or reason. There had to be nearly fifty strong of these chanting cultists that all seemed to be facing the opposite wall that the group had come from, with their backs to them.

"et congregans omnes vos..."

[ V . D ]   Pame had begun carefully removing the cold hard steel of her swords from her hips in preparation, her eyes glaring into the darkness without as much as a flinch-- Though to be fair the grip om her swords could have been enough to strangle a full grown human man.

It wasn't a matter of if she was nervous or not, but how long her mask of calm would last. So far it was strong and impervious, even as the suspiciously timed igniting of torches occurred.

Though it had made Pame hesitate from walking deeper, her eyes moving to inspect those remaining before facing forward once more.

"Not suspicious at all,"

Pame murmurs, then reaches to pluck a torch off the wall.

"Stay close. Wade carefully."

With these remarks lingering in the air has the kaldorei pressed forward, calmly and gracefully gliding her legs through the blood, gliding forward with minimal splash or loud waves from the tremor vibrations of her walking.

"What do you think that thing was? A grotesque mutation of Raelyndias experiments?"

Verzatea wondered aloud toward both women, her grip constantly readjusting to better hold the boy in her arms, her eyes often switching between lowering to inspect if he was well and looking back toward the path that lays ahead,

"I hope it wasnt an actual man... Ive seen that before. A test subject whos soul was twisted, broken and deformed then placed into the body of a lab created beast. T'was an awful sight.. He didn't suffer long, thankfully. Soul was too battered."

Until the chanting began... In which Verzatea's original state of shock and horror disappeared, replaced with some rising bubble of passion within. She was plain pissed. Irritated. Wounded. She'd not allow herself to be so weak as to fail those who remained, like she failed Marseille.

Right now she focused solely on the well being of all three individuals surrounding her, and as the highest ranking officer alive among them, it wouldn't look well if she started sobbing like a lost child looking for someone else to fix the problem.

Besides... Tea had beef with Raelyndia, for all evidence of her corruptible touch and what history has shown Tea of the infamous Mistress of the Nine. Tea wouldn't fall victim, and she damned sure would prevent more of her own falling victim.

And if that meant more fighting, surely she could find a good place to rest the boy before unveiling her swords and wreaking her own havoc, relieving all that pent up energy and excitement. But for now she trudged along quietly and observed, her alertness high whilst watching as the scene changed.

Even as the chanters came into vision, Tea and Pame held steadfast, watching them all closely whilst backing in to their group to ensure the four of them were close-- Safety in numbers, sure... But when the safe numbers were out numbered, alas Tea was confident in their abilities... Few in number, but not few in strength.

[ L. K ]   Though it would soon become clear that they were not only expected, but welcomed.  The chanters continued to repeat what they were saying over and over again, it was their mantra that caused the hearts of the intruders to feel unwelcome and unwanted.

As they got closer into the open room, the cultists soon began to turn.  Their horrors bestowed upon the three women. First and foremost each one of them was lacking a head.  The blood soaked stump of the jagged cut was clear that they were decapitated in the most painful of ways; multiple hacks.  

The blood that seemed to be filling this place was in no short supply from these headless monsters.  As they turned to welcome the intruders not only was the fact that their drawn hoods stayed aloft without heads but their bodies were exposed on the front.  The robes were open completely.  Each man, and woman was horribly mutilated.  

Some of the men lacked genitalia, only a blood soaked stain was left.  Some of the women too had been carved; their breasts taken.  Many had missing chest cavities and organs that had been removed, all of them were bloodied and horrific to look at.  Their flesh open and rotting; fetid to the stale air around them yet their chanting never left the hall. 

“Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin, Jursol of the Zandalari....”

The feminine voice would return and shadow them like they were all expected.

“You have come, kneel and take your place within the Order of Nine.  Join those who have come before you.  Only then will you be free...only then will this end.”

At the furthest end of the room there was a large altar, and behind the altar was a massive glass tank structure holding a coagulated blood substance.  The glass was several inches thick; no breaking it.  It seemed to be resonating the sounds they were hearing.

“Do not resist, only through your assimilation will you be forgiven...”

[ V . D ]   "Forgiven?"

Verzatea laughs dryly,

"From the look of things it isn't us who've done wrong,"

With this the Confessor begins to slacken her hold on the boy to lower him to the floor at her feet. A sudden wash of uncertainty befell her, a sort of sensation which had her instincts in overdrive and extra sensitive to the situation.

Perhaps it was nerves, given the high tension and Raelyndia's home advantage. But the three genuine members of the Nine were high alert, they stood a fighting chance. As Tea looked about the room her voice projected forth a query with every ounce of confidence she could muster,

"Forgiven for what?"

Though she played dumb, Tea had an idea what their sins were. Rejecting the Old Gods and abandoning the Black Empire surely didn't bode well for Nzoth and his followers, she could only imagine what they had waiting for the group if they were to reject repentance.

Thus her hands move toward her wrist, hesitating here in preparation to whip free her sword-bracelet-- But first she'd linger and listen. Pame was equally focused, her eyes moving back toward Jursol and her raptors, then to Tea and the boy whom had been sat on the floor in the blood and slumped over his own lap, his spine managing to keep him upright without aid. Pame quickly steps back, taking position to join Tea in circling the child, protecting the weakest in their circle.

[ J ]   Jursol had remained on high alert, focused, silent. She followed the others from behind as they moved further down into this mess. The torches seemed odd to be lit. Something was clearly wrong here. Her eyes scanned their surroundings as they moved further in.

The sound of chanting cause her and the raptors to glance at each other. Something about it caused them alarm. Brushing it they continued onward with the others. This had to end. As they entered into a new room, her eyes cast daggers at the cultist. Grabbing her weapon as she waved a hand to the raptors.

Each one moved into a new position as they circled the group.  As they got a better look at the mangled ripped bodies of the cultists, Jursol was in disbelief.

“By da Loa......not even death be sparring dem.”

Her head turned to face the body of a female. The voice seemingly coming from no where out her on edge. It was worse since they seemed to be expected.

“Who da.....”

Jursol stooped short as she listened to the female, a snort coming from her at the idea of forgiveness. She gave a sharp whistle as one of the raptors moved to surround the boy. The other two remained by her side. Jursol snarled like an animal as she glared at the female.

“We be doing no such thing. Dis be where it ends!”

Looking to the others as she readied herself.

“Dey be dead already, der must be a way ta finish dem off.”

Her gaze was on Tea, as she perhaps was the best one to know how to finished off something that is already dead.

[ L. K ]  After they spoke, a chilling pause resonated before the voice responded.

“You do not understand your sins....but I shall make you see...you will bend; or shatter beneath all that I have built.”

The voice taunted them; the vial at the head of the chamber began to bubble and hiss.  As the voice spoke so too did the vial.  It was clear that whatever was in the massive jar was speaking to them now.

“There is nothing more you can do.  You have all forsaken the Nine.  A curse upon your hearts for I shall be reborn.  And I shall restore that which has been blasphemously ruined in your ignorance.”

A flash of light then burst toward them as a red cosmic hand slowly tore from the ceiling; it’s dripping bloodied fingers curled around a subject.  It was lowered onto the elevated platform and placed standing up.  As the cosmic energy reformed and took its place as a chain noose around the neck of the figure, it became clear to them.

“Behold....”

The man was covered in blood, near death and being secured by a red energy chain that fed back to the large tank of blood substance.  It was Marseille.  His right arm was completely torn off, and his body had multiple teeth wounds across his legs, chest and neck.  He was alive.

“At this moment I have already systematically begun reclaiming all that is mine.”.

The voice said as the chain was jerked back and Marseille stirred to life.

“You will all suffer.  Scattered to the wind by my doing...torn from the place you claim and infest with your hideous stench.  But... as you have left it defenseless, I am curious how many more will be decimated before I reach my goal....I sense one of you has left something very....very important in my home....”

The voice said in a sinister tone.

“Pity....”.

In case it was not obvious that was a dig at Verza, she did leave something very important at home.  Something that was not easily replaced. And then the sound of laughter filled the air with her tone echoing over the chanting of the corpses around them.

[ T ]   As the laughter echoed around the chamber, a new scream was heard. This one was coming from the boy, who has just been finally jerked awake from nightmare after nightmare from merely entering the damned place.

Lazarius’ absence might have also played a part in allowing him to wake. As he woke shrieking, he curled up, only to go silent in his terror as he found himself sitting ankle-deep in blood.

[ J ]   Jursol looked around the room as she tried to think of something. Anything they could do at this time was better then nothing. However a plan was needed before acting. A raptor remained near the boy as he woke up. It purred as it tried to nudge him.

[ V . D ]   After all was said... For a moment... There was silence. To Tea, the shock of witnessing Marseille fall into display for the women and child was but a hazy flash of blurred images.

The cry Pame let forth was a distant noise to the sindorei, even as the kaldorei was standing just a little in front of Verza. The hollering of the boy, the noise from the raptors, the chanting. The threat. The laughter. It all came full circle and caught Verza's attention, the warnings resonating in the back of her mind, its many euphemisms unraveling into dozens of possibilities.

There were many things important that Tea has left behind in places that Raelyndia could have deemed home. But only one really stood out, something so undeniably invaluable... A powerful little girl of the void, a gift from the Gods themselves.

Verza's assumption led to a stiffened posture, her face flushing with blind rage whilst stepping forward as if she would charge the tank, a growl of hatred in her throat as she snarled out with the ferocity of a scorned mother.

"If one death was not enough to put you in your place, a second time will!"

Tea growls, her claw designed nails digging into the armor of Pames extended arm, her passionate spiel continuing as she spits out,

"If I must cross the realms and enter death to deal with you myself, then I swear upon the Duskflame name your reign of terror will cease as swiftly as it began!"

Vehemently she tore and dug her words at the disembodied figure, her excitement and fear pairing boiling to a point of being full of chaotic rage.

"You will once more be forgotten, made insignificant, I will personally wipe every shred of evidence of your existence from this world!"

Before Verzatea could risk herself, and the others by abandoning the group, Pame reaches an arm out to catch the ferocious little elf. Pulling her backwards the kaldorei whispers to calm the woman.

Tea had her arms pinned to her chest by Pames single arm, the sindoreis frazzled appearance indication of just how quickly the idea of her daughter in danger could rile her.

All the while Tea squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths, looking as though she were fighting to regain her composure-- Though really she was projecting her thoughts as loudly as she could in hopes Lazarius may hear.

Brinys was possibly in danger. The Bastille was possibly in danger. Their friends, their family, and their students... Everyone was at risk now. The kaldorei then focused in on Marsielle before hissing, testing out the waters to determine if this was another trap that would set them in a hostile situation.

"Marseille?"

She was guided by pure hope that it was real. That he was still alive and capable of retrieval as she then begins to inspect the chain around his neck.

@frompage112​

@siidaraykashebahl​

@zandalaridruidofgonk​

@pyravari-kashebahl​

@whatadarkbitch​

@thebladeitself​

@miss-irascible​

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 10″