Resurgence

IX: Commanding the Chaos

Warnings:
Displayed self-hate, self-harm, sexualization, objectification, indications of abuse
———

It was dark. Quiet, so incredibly quiet. He had no idea where he was, but he knew he couldn't stay. Panic rose through his body, every sense and instinct telling him to run while he still could, because, somewhere in the darkness, he was not alone. Something was coming, something far worse than the darkness he seemed so used to. He ran through the abyss, blind, begging for it all to be a false alarm, or just the fact that he hoped not to run into something. His lack of sight was most concerning, and he relied solely on his other senses to guide him.

The sound of a substance dripping down caught his ears, and he wasn't sure where it came from, but it sounded like all around. A faint coppery smell filled his nose and he grimaced, knowing full well that there was more to it than that. Something fell onto his fingers, he put them to his mouth, and to his surprise, the same copper scent -and taste- was there. He paled in the dark, the blood draining from his face. Blood. He wasn't sure if he wanted to understand what it was that surrounded him, but regardless, he would, as a mysterious light appeared in the distance, green, and beckoning him to come for it. He could faintly see the outlines of a long hall with a tall ceiling, barred walls, all metal, and out of sheer discomfort, he took off. Despite the feeling of sudden tiredness, being weighed down, that came over him, he reached desperately for the end of the tunnel, where the green light shimmered in wait.

"Stop!" an angered voice yelled, but it was far-off, distant, filled with emotion he knew not. He could not say he understood, why the dripping sounds were following him, why he could still smell the blood. Well, there was one suspicion, but he wanted to keep away from that possibility unless there was no other answer. It couldn't be, just couldn't be his own. He continued to run, but the hall only seemed to get longer, like the further he went, the less he progressed. Suddenly, causing a cry to escape his lips, something grabbed him by the back of the collar of his tunic, effectively throwing him into the wall. A hand, the one that had been on his collar, slunk forwards and down his face and neck, until it found his chest and hurriedly pushed back against it.

The accursed hand stopped at his hip, trailing in towards his thigh, to which he tried to jerk away. But the Elder -at least in whatever place they were- was quite strong, indeed, and he the little, lost, memoryless scum, was left unable to move. "But I will never abandon you. How could I ever leave you to that fate?" the yellow-eyed man questioned, leaning towards him in the dark. He shivered from the cold breeze, and the air was not the only thing caressing him. The ruler's hands made gentle, lustful gestures, running over his body, reducing him almost to carnal instinct, tearing at his sense of self and morals. He could sense how wrong it was, but he did not cry out, despite hating it so very much.

"But he is always there, in my mind, whispering his mad thoughts, twisting my every intent. His sorcerer walks in my dreams, taints them, takes what pleasure I can conceive and molds it into nightmare fuel. All except you. They allow me you; don't you see? I need you," the man whispered, breath hot against his neck. A dull pain shot through the delicate nerves of his neck, saliva touched the surface of his alabaster skin and dripped down, seeping from where the lips of his captor had locked on his flesh.

From his lips escaped a simple truth, a whimper that overpowered the guttural sounds of the ruler's pleasure. The sound he released told every secret he had. How afraid he truly was, like a child thrust into a matter of great minds, unable to comprehend. Hands, the ruler's they were, trailed his body, bit into the flesh of his neck, sent him to writhe in the elder man's grasp like he was some needy animal, left only to the fear and the desperate need he felt to be rid of the unwanted sensations. But that was not to say that they weren't pleasant, and that if he were submitting to his body's desires, he would not allow it, or possibly enjoy it. His mind, however, screamed vile possibilities, vile truths almost as resonant as the whimper that still rested upon the air. From his protests was born the ruler's sadness. "You do not want me? You want his torment above my love? Very well." And the light grew, covering his entire sight with a brilliant green glow, pulling him; his body flew up, weightless, wondrous, until he hit the ground once more.