The Creators Ch. 15

"What?" I croaked.

She frowned, and knocked against the walls of the hollow. "Jeepers, there's no structure to this place at all! What in the heck are... ah, I see. It's a temporary conduit. You're not a true astral traveler, and yet you're burrowing this abstraction right into my jungle. So much for all my hard work! Perhaps I can calm the astral plane, but I can't stop mankind's frivolous abstraction from popping up here and there like pesky weeds. Take this realm you're building for yourself, for instance." Corruption gestured around the hovel. "This is Depression. You obviously understand it intimately, you poor wretch. Did you know that you're digging this conduit right into my old realm? Keep going, and you'll pop right into the abyss of Guilt. You don't want to end up there, believe me."

I stared at Corruption, and she stared back at me. For tortuous seconds, I watched her expectant smile, recognizing her face, but not understanding the expression upon it. It was curious, almost welcoming, almost... happy. Where was the sardonic curl to her lip? Where was the depthless hunger in her infernal eyes? The longer we stared at each other, the less ethereal she seemed. She shifted awkwardly, rubbed her shoulder insecurely, and even feigned a cough just to break the silence.

"So... I take it you're not much of a talker, huh?" Corruption laughed anxiously. "Makes sense, since you're... you know... suicidally depressed. I guess I'm being insensitive. I'm not really good at reading people, which is strange. I give my host limitless perception, but I myself am quite daft when it comes to socialization. The desire is there—I'm actually quite the gregarious individual, if you can believe that—but... it's like I'm a child. Sometimes when I talk to Tethered Ones, I feel so out of depth. Have you met Bravery before? Quite the stern individual. The old geezer almost shamed me into a timeout before I remembered my omnipotence. And Curiosity, gosh, she asked so many questions! I felt like I was being interrogated! Call me a social dullard all you want, but that lady didn't have any decorum at all! And don't get me started on—"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" I screamed, then closed my eyes, and collected myself once more. There was no need to panic. I was dead, and I was in hell. Nothing mattered. There was nothing to worry about. I was going to suffer, but that was OK. I'd suffered my whole life. There was a sweetness to suffering if I just surrendered to it. I opened my eyes, and Corruption was standing above me, studying me curiously. White patterns thrummed from her flesh. Lucilla's white patterns, of course. This black creature was my demon.

"Well," I whispered, "do what you do. Take the pain away."

Corruption cocked her head, and smiled. She dropped to her knees beside me, and ran her eyes up my body before resting them upon my parted lips. She opened her legs and straddled me about the crotch, pressing my cock down against my abdomen, her delicate netherlips salivating upon my shaft's underside. As her succulent thighs clamped around my waist, she made her way up my body, stooping low so that her nipples grazed my tummy and breasts. My vision was veiled in a curtain of her black hair, and she centered her black and white eyes upon me. In the darkness, all I could see were those infinite blazing white irises. I was in hell, and she was the devil. She had been the devil the whole time. I smiled up at the bane of my existence, and opened my mouth. She smiled back, her teeth starkly contrasting her inky complexion, and she pressed our lips together.

She froze.

She jolted upright.

She shrieked.

She clutched her face and screeched to the tunnel above, and the patterns upon her strobed with such violence that the world became naught but the flashing of white and black, her negative image burning behind my battered lenses until I saw her only in profile. Her scream grew higher and higher, her body twisted in agony, and with a burst of black smoke, she was gone.

THE HUNTRESS

The predator was distracted. She flitted around her cottage frantically, searching cupboards and drawers, bending and leaping to canvas every inch of her abode. I wondered idly what she was looking for. Some kind of medicine, perhaps? For her pet was on the bed, convulsing and writhing with foam coming from her mouth. She was in the midst of a seizure. The predator had secured a bit in the nymph's mouth so that the nymph wouldn't grind her teeth or swallow her own tongue, and while she'd done the right thing by rolling the nymph on her side, she hadn't taken into consideration how close to the edge of the bed the nymph was. The nymph rolled off the side, and hit the floorboards with an audible thump.

"Willowbud!" the predator cried, and rushed to the nymph's aid. I wouldn't get a better chance. I unfurled my great batwings, and glided silently from the treetops. My wings cut through the air without even a whistle, unmoving and rigid, floating me down, down, down toward the square of warm luminance that contrasted the desolate monochromatic world of lunar light. The predator pulled the nymph back onto the bed, and looked up. I closed my wings, and shot through the window.

My feet smashed into her chest, and she was hurled backward. She crashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor, and I plucked the unconscious nymph from the bed, and shot out into the night. I felt the whisper of her fingers graze against my heel as I left the window, barely a hair's breadth from snagging me and dragging me to a horrific end, but that breadth was all I needed. I unfurled my wings, and flapped away into the night.

I flew until dawn. For miles and miles, I went; soaring over the dark landscape beneath me, moving past the planes of Drastinar, past the snarled dying woodlands, and deep into the rolling hills of the dwarves. The predator would hunt me ceaselessly, I knew she would, and there was no hiding from a creature such as she. She would pluck my scent from the very wind, and follow me to the edges of the earth to regain her precious prize, or at least to act vengeance upon her pet's killing. It mattered little to me. I was not one to stay in a single spot for long, nor was I too worried about the prospect of death creeping ever toward me. Death was always following us, as this little Willowbud would soon find out.

WILLOWBUD

My eyes opened, and I was staring at a thatch roof. No, it wasn't thatch; it was a complex interweaving of thorny sticks. It was a nest. Like a wren, this bird built its nest in a spherical shape, completely enclosing it save for the hole that was opened at the side and facing the ground. That hole revealed a sickening plummet to the earth below, showing me that the nest was built into the side of the Gratoran Wall. Much like my visit with Corruption, everything felt too real to be a dream. The air I breathed was as sharp as the air that had been in the cottage and as stiff as the air that had been in that cave, the wood that I rested upon felt as tangible as the bed I'd slept upon and the rock I'd climbed through, and the vampiric horror watching me from the darkness of the corner was as vivid as Gloria and Corruption. It felt like perfect lucidity, all of it had, and I knew for certain that this was the afterlife, for I now understood unequivocally that Gloria and Corruption were both dead, and so was I. As I looked upon this creature, I knew without a shadow of doubt that I was indeed, in hell.

"What are you, Pet?" the creature croaked, her voice a horrific rasp. Black hair hung in strands from her bald pate, black wings sprouted from her mutilated back, and her pallid vampiric flesh was knotted and scored with such torture that I didn't know how she moved in it. Her red eyes stared at me, lidless and bulging from beneath a severe brow without any eyebrows.

"What are you?" I hissed back.

She cocked her head like a bird, and clicked her tongue. "I am a huntress."

"Who are you?"

She clicked her tongue again. "I have answered your questions, now you will answer mine. What are you?"

"I'm nobody."

She cackled horrifically. "You are clearly somebody, Pet, for why else would the predator keep you?"

"I don't know," I muttered.

"You are nobody and you know nothing," the huntress mused, cocking her head in a strange avian manner. "Methinks you are a liar, Pet." She scuttled toward me on her hands and feet, her arms and legs spread out wide so that her motions were more like an arachnid than a human. I cringed, but I could do nothing else. She dipped her face and sniffed me, then cocked her head once more. "Strange smell for a nymph, I think. There's more to you than meets the eye. Secrets, secrets, secrets; so many silly little secrets." She contemplated me for a moment, then her eyes rested upon my crotch. There was a noticeable bulge in my dress, and I felt my throat close when her eyes lit up at the sight.

"Don't!" I croaked.

"Do not?" the huntress giggled. "You are my pet, Pet; you do not get to say what I can and cannot do!"

She produced one jagged thumbnail, and sliced my dress from the bodice to the skirt, unwrapping me like a present. She stared at my manhood with confusion and wonder, turning her head every-which way to gain the perspective she needed to understand it.

"I see why the predator kept you," the huntress crooned. "A masculine organ on a supple treat such as yourself? Tasty, tasty, tasty..." she grinned horrifically at me, all of her teeth missing except the long fangs.

"Don't!" I cried; my voice ragged.

"Do not, do not, do not!" the huntress cackled. "Such commands from such a helpless creature. Did you cry 'do not' when the predator milked you?" She tittered to herself. "I daresay I heard your moans throughout the forest, little pet. Shall I make you moan?" She slid her tongue over her gums, and raised her hairless brow lecherously. "Yummy cummy in my tummy!" She cackled again, high and broken.

"Please, Astrid," I whimpered.

The creature who wore Astrid's face cocked her head, and for a second, I saw the barest glimmer of recognition in her eyes. But of course I was just imagining it, for that glimmer was but the glint of avarice as she lowered her mouth to my crotch. Her lips were as good as Astrid's, her tongue was just as heavenly, and her throat was just as welcoming as she took me deep into her gullet. Despite my horror, despite my disgust, I could not deny the sensations in my loins. I became hard for her, and she feasted upon me with all the sweet gluttony Astrid had so many times. But the look in her eyes was cruel, and there was nothing that bespoke love in the way she pleasured me. And when I orgasmed into her swallowing throat, and I moaned just like she promised I would, there was nothing but a mindless hunger in her expression, looking down at me like I was a suckling pig ripe for the butcher's blade.

Astrid.

Astrid.

I thought I'd stared into the devil's face before. Now I knew what face the devil would truly wear for me. Tears poured out of my eyes and ran down my cheeks, but she didn't care. She just grinned her horrific gummy smile, and went back to work.

THE HUNTRESS

I tossed a dead squirrel onto Pet's chest. "Eat," I commanded.

Pet just looked at it, then looked up at me.

"Eat," I commanded again, prodding her shoulder.

She continued to just stare at me.

I sighed. "I had to fly from this cliffside to catch that squirrel for you, Pet. I had to stalk it from above, swoop down at the precise time, and catch it, then I had to fly all the way back up this cliff to give it to you. Now that you understand the hard work that went into acquiring you this meal, perhaps you shall eat it, no?"

"I'm a nymph," Pet said. "I can't eat meat."

I cocked my head, and narrowed my eyes. "Then perhaps you should just eat the fur."

She turned away from me, looking out through the hole in the nest.

I crawled over to her, and sat beside her head. She had such white hair, and when I ran my fingers through it, each strand felt like silk. She shuddered and winced as my claws gently grazed her scalp, finding no pleasure in my touch. I frowned. "Do you not like it when I touch you, Pet?"

She shut her eyes tightly, and a tear leaked down her cheek.

"Pets are supposed to like it when their master strokes them," I mused, gently sliding her hair behind her ivory horns. "You will learn to be pleased by my touch. I shall train you."

"Just kill me," she whimpered.

"Why would I do that?"

I enjoyed the texture of her fine white hair for a while longer, then I slid my fingers down her throat. She shivered all over when my claws dragged caressingly along her collar, then across the subtle swell of her breast. She was so young, so unblemished and ripe; like a juicy little pear that would burst with flavor from a single bite.

"Do you truly want me to kill you?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"You must understand, Pet, that I will keep you alive for as long as I can if I decide to eat you," I whispered. She opened her eyes then, and looked at me with a gaze filled with horror. "Yes," I giggled, "I will start with the white meat," I caressed her breasts, "then I will enjoy some of the dark meat," I slid my hands down her arms, "but first, of course, I will have to have the tasty little bits," I tickled her fingers, and cackled when she whimpered. "No, no, no, it will not be an enjoyable end for you, but I must preserve your life to savor every bit of you." I touched her throat, "I am not one to waste a delicate treat in one meal. Now, do you wish to be my pet, or my dessert?"

"Your pet," she croaked.

"An excellent choice!" I exclaimed, and tousled her white mane. Her hair became disheveled, forming a veil across her face. When I stroked the strands away, she was staring at me with scrutinizing eyes.

"The Pit," she said.

I cocked my head. "What was that, Pet?"

"Drastin," she said.

"What gibberish do you speak?"

She worked her jaw, and whispered, "Iona."

I poked her nose, and giggled when she scrunched it. "My little pet likes to make up words, does she? What else does she do?"

"She asks questions," Pet replied.

"A curious pet, hmm? Well, Pet, what questions do you have?"

"Do you remember anything?"

"What a silly question."

"What's your oldest memory?" she asked, unable to hide the desperation in her voice. It seemed this question was of some urgency to her, though I couldn't fathom as to why.

I hummed contemplatively, and tapped my lips. "I was born in agony. Burns everywhere. Pain everywhere. I was screaming, screeching, shrieking like a banshee, yes I was, and my mother offered me no relief." I scratched at my bald pate. "I was in a barn, yes I was, staring through a hole in the roof. Mother would feed me from bags and bottles, and I got stronger every day. When I was strong enough, I flew away, and I never saw her again. It must've been hundreds of years ago."

"It was two weeks ago," Pet whispered.

I howled with laughter, and poked her cute little nose again. "You are such a silly pet."

"Gloria is your blood-mother."

"Who?"

"She pulled you out of that hole with me," Pet whispered. The tears fell freely down her cheeks now. "She tried to save you the only way she could, but you were too far gone. She let you go. She didn't want me to see you."

I sighed, and cradled my pet's head in my arms. She wept silently, finding no comfort in my touch. "I am sorry that you have gone mad, little pet," I cooed into her ear, "but do not worry; I do not care for your sanity." I planted a kiss upon her brow, and she whimpered. "You are like a lamb kept weak by the farmer to sustain the tenderness of the meat. I will do the same for you, Pet. I will keep you tender and soft, and feast from your spout when I desire, and all your worries will wash away."

The little pet sobbed in my arms, and I hummed a little song that had somehow latched itself to my memory. "The wings of war are out the door; they've left their feathers on the floor. Keep your eyes on the horizon, and you may see Iona soar." Ah, so I did know of Iona. What strange gibberish.

For the next three days, I nurtured my pet, and she plied me with ridiculous questions and claims. She went so far as to say I was a warrior princess, and then burst into tears and claimed everything was her fault. Silly little thing. I had to collect various grasses for her from the mountainside, for she not only refused to eat squirrels, but also rabbits, birds, mice, chipmunks, and even hogs. I was beginning to think she had much in common with the weak things I hunted for her; perhaps she was saddened by their loss, and so refused to eat them. She claimed to be unable to, yet she had canine teeth in her mouth meant for the rending of flesh. It vexed me. Still, I did as she bid, for the nectar from her spout was sweet and decadent, and tasted less-so when she was famished.

It was strange to me that she was so frail, and yet her muscles were strong and toned beneath her youthful caramel flesh. I did not taste any disease in her, nor was she paralyzed. She made strange claims of being a divine being sapped of her power, but these were but the ramblings of the insane, and it was very clear to me that she was mad. It made her all the more endearing to me; she was like a sick puppy. I doted upon her ceaselessly, yet she never warmed to my touch. Every attempt at asserting my affections was met with her sorrow, disgust or fear—generally all three in varying degrees. When I felt lusting, I rode her, and when I felt hungry, I suckled from her, and though she moaned and cried out such enticing tones of pleasure, she did so with her eyes shut tightly, and sobbed the name 'Astrid' over and over.

Astrid was the source of much of my vexation. My pet seemed to see Astrid in every waking moment, and even called for her in her sleep. If I ever found this Astrid, I would tear off her stupid little head and give it to my pet as a gift. Then maybe her suffering would end.

WILLOWBUD

It was the fifth day of my captivity, and I was beginning to notice things. Things like the great mass of rock the nest was built into. Things like the hundreds of little pebbles that were strewn about the twigs of the thatching. I couldn't manipulate them, but I could feel them. That sensation of earthly connection severely rattled the comfortable idea that I was in hell. Without that connection it was very easy for me to believe my spirit had gone to the unforgiving afterlife, but now that I felt it, I began to get the creeping notion that all of this was real. I just didn't know where reality started or ended anymore. Had Gloria given me the wrong mushroom? Had I actually gone to the astral plane? Had I.... but no... no, I couldn't have. It was a dream, as vivid, strange and horrific as all the other fever dreams I'd suffered for so long. Astrid mutilated and dead; Corruption wreathed in the patterns of a woman I'd murdered. My guilt manifesting itself in ethereal flesh to torture me. Like in all my other dreams, I was helpless. I was a slave to the rock I had once commanded, and had to scrape my way to the heavens just to find myself back in hell. I rested my hand against a pebble, and felt the connection. This was real. Perhaps everything since that day in Drastin was just an apparition, but this moment was real. She was real.

I spent most of my days lying on my back staring at the ceiling while the huntress slept in the corner, cocooned in her batwings. She didn't know that was how she used to sleep in my bed, all wrapped in her own feathers. When the evening came she would get lusty, feed upon me, groom me, then fly out to hunt. I hated to admit it, but in the blackness of the night when I was all alone with just my thoughts, I missed her. Even though her presence tortured me, my own company was much worse. She would always come back an hour before the dawn—usually covered in the blood of some kill—and she would toss a piece of vegetation on my chest and watch me eat it. Then she would pleasure herself with me, groom me, and go back to sleep as the sun rose.