The Creators Ch. 01

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Book One: Sentience and Divinity

Chapter One: The Life Giver

BRANDON

My twin sister is dead, but she's not gone. Death is a tragedy in the village of Towerhead, but it's not a rarity. Farming accidents, disease, famine, natural disasters, you name it, it kills people in Towerhead. So eight years ago, when the oxen-pulled carriage ran my sister into the dirt, it was a tragedy, but it wasn't an anomaly. I had seen this play before; the townspeople rushing to the accident, the driver sitting in shock, the wails and screams of the bereaved, and the solemn procession that followed. My mother and father were devastated, my classmates were consoling and understanding, but I just stood there like an asshole pointing to the translucent figure to my left.

"Uh, guys?" I said. "She's right here."

At first, people thought it was just my coping mechanism. Hell, I thought that must be the case, but Angela never went away. She talked to me, and I tried to ignore her. She didn't like being ignored, so she started screaming at me. When I finally relented with an exacerbated, "WHAT?!" her only response was to smile brightly and say, "whew, I thought I was talking to myself this whole time. I was worried people would think I was going crazy!" And that's when people thought I was going crazy. I agreed with them, of course; obviously, I was going insane. I tried meditating, religious counseling, and even old pagan rituals, but nothing made her go away. Then Angela started feeding me test answers in school, and telling me where to pan for gold in the river, and showing me where the game was when I was hunting. The apparition's proclamations were so accurate that I could no longer deny her existence. Angela was dead, but she wasn't gone.

After my parents tried an exorcism to relieve me of the 'demon that plagued my soul,' I stopped trying to prove to people that Angela was real. Towerhead is a lovely town, but it is a small town, fifty miles removed from civilization. Magic is looked down upon, and any anomaly that can't be explained in ten words or less is either 'god's blessing,' or 'the devil's work,' depending on the general mood, and 'the devil's work' was usually solved with pitchforks and pyres. So I kept Angela to myself, but as I grew older, her constant presence in my life started to present new and interesting problems. You see, Angela never left me. I mean never, and as an eighteen-year-old boy, privacy was a concern of mine.

"OK Angela," I hissed at her as I sat upright on my bed, "we need to talk about boundaries."

"I was just curious to see what you were doing," she said with a big-eyed look of innocence. "It looked like you were wrestling with a squirrel under the sheets."

"Mm-hmm," I said frankly, "a squirrel."

"A really big squirrel," she smiled impishly. "The kind of squirrel all the women of the town would just love to see."

"Angela, get the fuck out of my room."

"Oh, my mistake," she giggled, "looks like it's a chipmunk. Not a very impressive one either. Kind of sickly looking, and diseased, and limp—"

"Angela..." I growled.

"You know," she said, completely unfazed by my irritation, "if you would just listen to my advice, you wouldn't have to wrestle rodents under your bedsheets every night."

I sighed, and pulled up my pants beneath the sheets. It was going to be another one of those nights. Angela's ethereal body matured as I did, but her personality... well, let's just say existing in a single-peered state didn't do much for her social development. Sometimes Angela left me alone, but as we grew older, she became more and more... curious about my nightly activities.

"How do I put this nicely..." I said, "...your advice with women is fucking terrible."

"It is not!" Angela huffed. "I feed you great lines; you just deliver them horribly."

"Trish, are you doing anything tonight? Yeah you are... this guy." I recited the last line Angela had given me, completing the phrase with a double-thumb-point to myself, just like she had said I should. "That one was a real panty-dropper."

"I think she liked it," Angela insisted.

"She laughed, then slapped me in the face."

"She's just playing hard to get."

"She's really taking the game to heart then."

"Hey! At least a woman touched you this time!"

"That's not really the kind of connection I'm looking for," I replied with a wry smile.

Angela looked like she was going to say something else for a moment, but then she sighed, and drooped her shoulders. "OK," she said sheepishly, "it wasn't my best line."

"It was absolutely terrible," I said, letting her rest her weightless head on my shoulder, "but I appreciate the effort."

"Just not the results," Angela sighed. "You know, I spent hours thinking of that one."

"I don't think women really go for pickup lines. I think talking to them like actual people might be an interesting tactic."

"We've tried that," she smiled ruefully up at me, "you're no good at it."

"It doesn't help when you're hovering over my shoulder, constantly giving me unwarranted advice," I chuckled, and then changed the pitch of my voice to mimic hers. "Smile, Brandon. Sit up straight! Look her in the eyes, hold the eye contact, hold it... hold it... don't you fucking blink, you're killing it! Hold it... Don't look at her tits! OK, smooth recovery; hey, what's wrong? You look like you need eye drops; holy shit, they're red! Oh fuck, she's getting up; quick, say something clever! Oh god, why did you say that?! Quick, uh... flex your muscles! Sing her a song! Propose to her! Pull your cock out and... she's gone."

"I do not sound like that!" Angela giggled.

"That was basically a transcription of the last date I went on, and yes, you sound exactly like that."

"Well, I gave you solid advice," Angela insisted, "you just didn't follow it right."

"Your feminine intuition is a true wonder. Clearly, my mind is too weak to comprehend your genius."

"Clearly," she replied, decidedly ignoring my sarcasm. I looked over at her and sighed. Angela was objectively beautiful. Her face was girlish, with big blue eyes, a pointed nose, flushed cheeks, and a smattering of freckles. Had she been alive, her hair would have been strawberry-blonde, her complexion would've been subtly pale, and her figure would've been long-limbed and slender. Instead, her ethereal skin was a light-blue hue, her hair was starkly white, and her form was a fleeting wisp that barely held together in the wind. It must've been hell for her to see what she could have become.

"Are you still going to Tera's house tomorrow?" she asked me, her voice soft and fearful.

"What other choice do we have?"

"Go to Drastin. Seek the guidance of a wizard."

"We're fifty miles from Drastin, and we don't have the coin for a wizard."

"And you think Tera can help?"

"They say she's ancient; older than Towerhead itself, and she's cheap."

"She's a succubus, Brandon," Angela hissed. "She's where the dying widowers go to spend their last days; if you're that desperate to get laid, we can just spend the money on a whore."

"She'll take my coin as payment," I said firmly. "She'd be run out of town if she took unwilling men."

"You're 'Crazy Brandon;' no one would second-guess her if she said you came to die. A young man like you might be too tempting a prize."

"We'll just have to take the risk. We can't keep living like this."

"Living." Angela scoffed.

"You know what I mean." I said, "We need help, or at least, we need answers. Tera can probably give us the latter; what's happening to us can't be unique."

TERA

I smelled the young man before I saw him. I could smell his vigor, his strength and his youth. He smelled delicious, but I stayed my desires. I had created a delicate symbiosis with the townsfolk of Towerhead; they sent me their old and dying to feed upon, and I provided them with healing and medicine. It was a tenuous relationship, but it worked as long as neither side overstepped themselves. The old and dying came willingly, wanting to spend their last days in pleasure and comfort, but if a young man were to come along, I was to reject him. So I grew nervous as he approached my door, and I pondered for a moment if I should act like I wasn't home. If the townsfolk saw this man enter my abode, it would raise questions, and the god-fearing people of Towerhead usually answered questions of magical beings with pitchforks and torches. He knocked on the door, and I sighed.

"One moment," I called to the door, adjusting myself in the mirror. I was naked, of course. Clothes were such a bother, unless they were lingerie, in which case they were wonderful fun. Still, I couldn't risk unintentionally tempting this boy with my bronze body. My gravity-defying breasts and robust backside might've seemed vulgarly exaggerated on another woman, but my thick thighs, toned abdomen and defined shoulders framed me with an athleticism that pulled it all together. My big violet eyes belied an innocence that had been corrupted centuries ago, my high cheeks expressed an austerity that had never been there, and my luscious lips bespoke disgusting desires, the one honest thing about my liar's portrait. I was a beautiful human woman in all aspects, save for the demonic horns curving from my wavy black mane, and the long thin tail that grew from my tailbone. I was a predator, but I was retired. I tossed a baggy tunic over my perfection, and walked to the door.

"Yes?" I asked, opening the small window at the front of the door where only my violet eyes could be seen.

"Are you Tera?" the young man asked. He looked to be in his late teens, blond of hair, slight of build, and obviously nervous as hell. Thank god; I thought he might be another suicidal young man looking for an easy way out. He was not here for my salacious services.

"I am," I said, trying to keep the natural seduction out of my voice. "What can I help you with?"

"It's..." he trailed off, "...it's kind of complicated, can I come in?"

So, an embarrassing ailment of some kind. God, I hoped he didn't come for an erectile dysfunction cure.

"Roll up your sleeves, take off your boots, splay your hands, spread your legs, lift up your shirt, and spin around three times," I replied. "Then show me your gold."

The young man did as I requested, and I took an indulgent moment to admire the toned muscle of his abdomen and the veins in his forearms, then told him he could stop. I told him to turn out his pockets, and he did, relinquishing the pouch of gold he had, as well as fishing hooks, twine and some lint. I gave him another studious once-over, checking the loose spots in his clothing for signs of a weapon before I finally opened the door.

"Come in," I said with what I hoped was a welcoming smile, and not the seductive smirk I naturally wore, "but leave your boots outside; I don't want you to track dirt in."

I walked over to my desk, trying my damndest to keep my gait from turning into a sultry strut, then I sat down behind it, and gestured for the young man to take a seat across from me. He sat awkwardly and twiddled his thumbs, and I pulled out my notebook and quill.

"So, what ails you?" I asked, trying not to leer.

"I'm not sick," he entwined his fingers nervously. "I have a... I have a spiritual problem."

"I'm not a therapist. I suggest you take your spiritual problem up with the town priest."

"It's not like that. I mean... I mean I have a spirit following me."

"Mm-hmm," I nodded, making a note on the paper, "paranoid schizophrenia. There's no cure, but I do have herbs that can dull the hallucinations."

The young man stared at me for a moment, then cocked his head as though listening to something. He nodded to his imaginary friend, and I made another note on my paper.

"You're not writing my symptoms on that paper," he said.

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"You're drawing a cartoon of me with my shirt off, and a very generous bulge in my pants."

I started upright in my chair, slammed my notebook on the table, and flushed with embarrassment. I was about to explain myself, but the boy cut me off.

"You have three bottles of five-hundred-year old wine, a closet full of lingerie, and a hidden door in your back room," he said, cocking his head as he listened, "and behind the hidden door, is—"

"Stop!" I screamed, my heart racing. "Don't you say another fucking word!"

"...your daughter," he finished, "combing her hair and looking out of a one-way window."

I stared back at him in disbelief as I subtly reached beneath the desk, and grasped the stock of the crossbow riveted to the bottom of the tabletop.

"I bet you can see this, too," I whispered, and aimed the bolt at the man's crotch.

"I can't see anything; it's my sister who scouted the place while you searched me."

"Where is she?! Is she with my daughter?!"

"She's actually sitting on top of your head, trying desperately to punch you before you shoot me in the balls," he responded, his voice wavering. "If my promise it worth anything to you, Tera, I promise I won't tell anyone about your daughter."

I tensed my finger on the trigger, weighing my options in my head. The people of Towerhead barely tolerated me as it was, and if they found out I had bred, I had no doubts about what they'd do to me and my daughter. But if I killed this boy, people would ask questions. Death is commonplace in Towerhead, but murder isn't. A missing boy, last seen walking down my path? I might as well tie myself to a stake and light the match. I eased my finger off the trigger and sat back, but kept my hand resting on the stock. There were two possibilities with this young man: either he'd possessed an astral being and named it his sister, or... well, that was the only option, really, because the alternative was impossible. Nearly impossible, anyway. Those legends were older than I was, and I was five-hundred years old.

"OK boy," I said, looking at him sharply, "where are you keeping the gemstone?"

"The gemstone?"

"That's how you captured the astral being, isn't it?" I replied. "The charm on the doorway should have detected it though, so you couldn't have brought it with you..." I looked the young man over, running through the options, "...though you wouldn't need a gemstone if you're really an elf. Hmm... no pointed ears, and your eyes aren't the right shade of blue... the freckles certainly don't fit... wrong shade of blond, too..."

"I... uh..." the young man said, shifting nervously, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Nymphs don't need gemstone's either," I mused, my options dwindling, "but you certainly aren't one of those—I would know—OK, I give up; how did you capture the astral being without a gemstone?"

"Like I said," he replied, looking very nervous, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have a gemstone, and I don't know what an astral being even is."

I leaned forward, staring intently at him as my finger twitched against the trigger of the crossbow. Something clearly alerted him to the danger he was in, because he flinched as my hand angled into the shooting position.

"An astral being is a force a nature from the cognitive plane," I said, searching for recognition in his eyes, "it's what makes magic work. There are thousands of types of astral beings, and more than a few of them can give the user the power to snoop around my fucking house."

"I'm being honest with you," he hissed, his shaking voice barely a whisper, his body visibly trembling. "Please let me go."

"I'm sorry, boy," I tightened my finger on the trigger, and tilted the crossbow upward so that the sites zeroed-in on his stomach, "but I don't believe you."

"Mom!" Justina's voice screamed from behind me. "Stop!"

JUSTINA

It appeared to me as a glint of blue light. It glared against the wall, and I studied it, trying to figure out what prism in my room could create such a solar projection. Then I realized the glint was shining counter to the sunlight, and I became even more intrigued.

"What are you?" I asked the glint, stepping in front of the sun coming from my window, and noting that my shadow did not cast upon the light. "An astral being?"

The glint vibrated against the wall as if in answer to my question. Neither an affirmative, nor a negative, but still a response. I reached out and touched the spot, and felt nothing. An astral being wasn't nothing; they had some substance to them. So, not an astral being. I looked at the extensive library Mother had collected over the years, pondering which tome had the answers to this intriguing mystery. Mother was a doctor at heart, but me, I was a scientist, and a damned good one at that. Of course, it was rather easy to be an astute academic when spending eighteen years locked in a room with nothing but books. I rubbed my thumb and forefinger against the tip of my left horn in a ponderous motion, and ran my eyes over the spines of each expansive volume.

Histories of The Arcane Arts, A Collection of The Mystic Texts, a blue woman standing behind me, The Testaments of—

My gaze swept by an old spyglass sitting on the shelf, then darted back as my heart jumped in my throat. The fish-eyed reflection of the spyglass showed a blue woman screaming into my ear. I turned my head slowly to the left, feeling my terror rising in my throat, but I saw nothing. I turned my gaze back to the spy glass, and there she was. My curiosity overtook my fear, and I leapt into action. I ran over to my dresser and pulled out my hand mirror. I aimed the glass toward the glint on the wall, but didn't see the woman in the reflection. I turned the glass away from the glint, slowly angling it until it appeared at the very edge of the reflection. And there she was, right where the glass met the wood frame of the hand mirror. Aim the glass too directly, and she was gone, but aim is so that the glint just barely showed on the edge, and she appeared. She was young, beautiful, and obviously terrified. Why was she scared? What was she trying to say?

"What?" I asked. "What is it?"

The blue woman stopped, realizing I could see her. She pointed to the door of my room, which was hidden behind the bookshelf on the other side. I nodded. She assumed a sitting position, her body supported by nothing, then she brought her arm forward with her index finger pointing outward, and clenched her finger.

"Sitting and smoking?" I asked. "Someone's sitting and smoking outside?"

She shook her head furiously, and brought her other hand in front of the one clenching her index finger. She cupped the other hand as if she was holding something in front of her, flexed her index finger, and jerked her arms back. Jerked her arms back as if... as if in recoil from pulling a trigger. Mom's crossbow! Mom was going to kill someone! I ran to the bookshelf, undid the hidden latch, and burst into the room.

"Mom!" I screamed, holding the mirror in my hand. "Stop!"

BRANDON

If I hadn't skipped breakfast, I would have shit myself already. Angela was flitting frantically from Tera's head to the bookshelf in the corner, racing back and forth in a blur of translucent light. She told me I was in danger, she told me Tera had her hand on the trigger, then she left me alone with the succubus and went to the hidden room that housed the monster's offspring. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have mentioned the girl; it was pretty obvious Tera wanted her to remain secret, but I had to think of some way to convince her beyond all doubt that Angela was real. Then she went off about astral beings, and magic, and all the shit you'd never hear about in Towerhead, and now my testicles were staring down the sites of a crossbow.