Split of the Worlds (18+)

Intermezzo - Tazeel

!!Triggerwarning!!
Sexual content

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Human Realm – Present

He loved to watch the sunrise. Whenever he was in the human realm, he tried to reach a high point as soon as the first rays bathed the horizon in changing colours.

"Beautiful," he breathed, amazed. This spectacle could lift his spirits every time. Even when he was at work.

"Thanks, sweetie," wheezed the woman on her knees in front of him.

"Not you." He didn't even say it unkindly. He simply didn't care about her. But the fact that she was comparing herself to this wonder of nature in front of him was something he couldn't let stand.

She squeaked indignantly, but didn't move away from him. He smiled while keeping hold of her hips and continued to thrust rhythmically. She moaned in a theatrical way when she came; it was probably audible a few blocks away.

"So, how was I?" she asked him over her shoulder a moment later.

The sun had risen higher, letting its warm fingers glide over the cool elevations of the city. Tazeel did not avert his eyes. This was his time, his moment.

"Sweetie..." The woman whined, so he smiled at her.

"Honestly... Quite alright, but your daughter was better." He looked briefly over at the young woman, who was smoking a cigarette sitting on the roof a few meters away from them, leaning against a parapet. "Less experienced, but more committed."

He shrugged his shoulders as the older woman's eyes grew round with shame and anger.

It didn't matter whether he'd climaxed from her efforts. This was not about satisfying his lust. He pulled up his pants and buttoned them.

Although he wasn't looking, he could feel the rising anger and hatred of the mother for her daughter. He closed his eyes with pleasure, feeling the streams of possibility.

Ah, it had almost been too easy. A couple of free drinks, a few half-hearted compliments, evenly distributed to the two women. Just a little friendly attention to quench their initial thirst and whet the appetite for more.

He reached into his pants pocket and fished out a crushed pack of cigarettes. As soon as he had lit one for himself, he offered the mother one too. She straightened her skirt and blouse, took the offered cigarette and gave her daughter a sardonic look.

When would they both realize that they had just been used? Perhaps never. They were so busy blaming each other for their messed-up lives that it probably never occurred to them that there had been an outside influence at some point.

People like these women were his fast food. Easy prey, small fry. But he liked this work as a change from the big intrigues at court. He liked getting his hands dirty.

And sometimes humans surprised him. When the women invited him into their home, he hadn't expected them to kill the only "competition" as a gift, so to speak. Just for him; he had almost been touched.

They had strangled him together, the husband, the father. Slowly, in front of Tazeel's eyes, while they mocked the dying man as a bore and a coward. Then they had gone up here to the roof.

Sighing, he leaned against the railing. The moment was almost over, the sun was soon shining too brightly to bring out the delicate pastel shades he so admired. He took a drag on his cigarette and blew a curl of smoke into the morning air.

To his left and right, the two women now also stepped up to the railing. They moved closer to him, as if they needed his warmth against the cold inside them.

Cold, hopeless hearts like theirs promised certain success. It hadn't taken much to make their world a little worse. To awaken in them the desire to bring suffering upon others because they themselves had been hurt. Actually... Tazeel smiled. Actually, it hadn't needed him for that. It had just gone a little faster.

"So, are you staying?"

He turned to the daughter who had addressed him. The skinny thing had a core of iron in her. She would do an excellent job of passing on his seeds of hatred.

"Sure." He flicked the glowing cigarette butt into the canyon of houses in front of him. "Just got to run an errand, then I'll be back."

He pulled her close and kissed her gently. She tasted of old smoke and cheap alcohol and shivered under his touch. She had probably only been touched rough so far. He licked her lower lip, sucked lightly.

She would remember his tenderness. And feel the loss all the more sharply. The certainty of never getting that again. A shudder seized him, the anticipation of her wounded soul tasted so delicious.

He let go of her and turned to the mother. He gripped her a little tighter; she wanted passion. Her greatest fear was becoming unattractive, so he thrust his tongue into her mouth and pressed himself against her.

"Don't get old while I'm gone," he whispered to her with a wink.

Then he broke away from her too and headed for the stairwell with a wave.

Of course he wouldn't be coming back.

As soon as the door to the roof had closed, he had forgotten about them.

After this refreshment, he could turn his attention back to his project. The memory of wide open amber eyes, the fear and disgust in them, made him stop short. He bathed in the comforting trickle that made his spine tingle.

Ah, he had gone about it too quickly, too roughly. But who could have expected a warmonger to keep an angel alive for more than a few cycles? He hadn't wanted to miss out on the brief fun.

And besides, he had learned something about N'Arahn that way.

He brushed a strand of hair from his face, letting his fingertips dance across his neck where the other demonlord had grabbed him.

That rage, that fire.

Sure, warmongers were impulsive and violent. But there was more to it than that.

It was no longer a hunch, it was a delightful certainty since their last, not at all accidental, encounter.

Tazeel sensed a fascinating opportunity to show off his skills in the Red Depths.

His pulse quickened and arousal welled up inside him. He bit his lip, closed his eyes and suppressed a moan.

He was sure that soon two immortal souls would experience a new kind of suffering.

It would be fantastic.