There has always been a chill permeating through his tower home, as though somewhere, a brick stone had not been set correctly. Such an architectural slight could very well be possible, the tiniest of cracks left as an in for the outside wind to creep through. Lezard didn't much mind the cold. He never had. He found it invigorating, that sharp bite of frost refreshing where the heat was not. Too often had Lezard found the heat stifling, suffocating not only his ability to breathe but his ability to think. Heat promoted sluggishness, while the cold lent itself well to activity. Especially the kind of activities Lezard often indulged in.
The cold kept the bodies fresh. Kept decay's hands at bay. He had always despised when the bodies began to rot, the smell getting to him in a way that few of anything else could. It turned his stomach, but more than that, the smell served as a reminder. A reminder that he had once again run out of time where the bodies were concerned.
It was delicate work, handling corpses. Care had to be taken, for the work could not be rushed. To rush would be to make mistakes, and Lezard was anything but sloppy. He'd exert the utmost of care, taking what he needed from the bodies then discarding the rest. It was easier to get rid of the bodies than to acquire them. Especially that of the elves. Nasty creatures those deplorable little puppets. He saw them as little more than tools, to be used as he saw fit. He cared not one whit about their feelings, their pitiable hopes and dreams. Saw them as just barely a step up from the monsters who lurked in their forests.
Thinking that way made it easy to use them. To kill them. Lezard was unaffected by their pleas, the screams that they let out. Just as he hadn't cared much about the humans he routinely killed either. He saw it all as a much needed sacrifice, a means to an end. An end of Lezard's own design, with countless lives spent as mere stepping stones towards his goal.
Even those he knew of personally, weren't safe from his ambitions. His friends, his teacher, they all mattered little when it came to what Lezard desired. He never regretted those deaths. Never felt remorse for their passing and the part he had played in that. He simply moved on, learning and adjusting accordingly.
The data he gained was invaluable. He had spent a good two years perfecting his craft. His homunculi improved by leaps and by bounds, bearing little resemblance to the creatures of those first days. No longer did Lezard need to piece together a mishmash of body parts. He could make do with just one. He had learned to cut the essence that animated the body, to remove the very soul that gave a person or elf life. Suck out the soul, and only a hollow shell remained, just waiting to be filled again.
Reanimating the bodies, now that had proved much more difficult. It took an immense amount of power, as well as a vast knowledge. So much could go wrong, and had, Lezard ending up with more than a few monsters on his hands. He had taken it all in stride. Killed the worst of the abominations, and put to work the rest. They now guarded the lower levels of his tower, reduced to being mere obstacles for any would be heroes that ventured forth.
His work seemed to invite a certain type. Adventure seekers and do good groups, all hoping to make a name for themselves. Hoping for the fame and the fortune that might have come in stopping the mad man responsible for all of those murders. Most times however, they never even made it past the first floor of his tower, these so called heroes becoming food for his monsters. Those strong enough to survive his pets, and his traps, often found themselves at Lezard's mercy. He had little use for men, his interest lying elsewhere. But he killed them all the same, piecing them together to form new nightmares that would guard his tower from further invasion.
It wasn't just the occasional hero he was concerned about. An invasion WAS coming. His work couldn't be allowed to continue, not at the rate of lives that were being expended. Sooner rather than later, he himself would be remembered. And when that happened, Lezard would be dealt with. Or at least they'd try. Lezard would actually smirk at that thought, eyes gleaming behind the panes of his glasses. He looked forward to their attempts, wanting to see their hopes crushed as effortlessly as a bug under his foot.
But he wasn't over confidant. No, never that! He couldn't afford to be, not until the last of his plan was accomplished. That was still some way off. He was missing some vital piece, the last bit that would have everything click into place. Until he had that final piece, eternity would elude him. And that was almost as unacceptable as living out his life alone. Without HER.
Just conjuring her image to mind is enough to get Lezard to smile. It is genuine, and it is heartfelt, his expression one of longing. He vividly remembers her expressive eyes, the blue bright with her anger. That disdain of hers for him. Such an expression from her towards him makes Lezard shiver in delight, makes his cock grow tight with arousal. She's never had a kind word for him, never looked at him with anything except anger and judgment. She thinks him sick, a soul defiler, a depraved madman. And she's right.
It is for her that Lezard does what he does. That the killings have continued for all these years. Those bodies are a testament to his desire for her, their broken bones and spilled blood a love song that only she can hear. She is why he isolates himself, why he labors so extensively towards his goals. She is what he strives for, what he wants above all else. She is what he shall have, and not even the damning of his soul can save her.
It takes a supreme amount of effort for Lezard to calm himself from the direction his thoughts have taken. He is pleased that he has managed to restrain from letting slip a hysterical laugh. The time to gloat of his victory is almost near, not this minute but soon. Soon. If and only if he had done the incantation right. It was almost certain that he had. Lezard had seen the body's chest swell with it's first breath. Felt it's skin start to grow warm as the flush of life chased away death's chill. The body lived, of that he had no doubt. But what of the soul that resided inside it? That was a question whose answer he waited on most impatiently.
This impatience grated on his nerves. It left him with boundless energy, translating into repetitive motion. He actually paced the halls of his tower. As though he could no longer remain still for any length of time. He checked on his projects, lesser experiments that served no other purpose save to satisfy his curiosity. Several times he had started to go to the body, intent on checking the results of his handiwork. Lezard would get as far as unlocking the door, before he talked himself out of entering the room. Better to wait. Better to give the incantation and the soul time to adjust to the vessel he had prepared.
His pacing would bring him to a nearby room, and there he would indulge in an often maligned, but not often ignored bad habit. He'd drink, Lezard pouring himself a stiff glass of rum. It was a strong, potent taste on his tongue, the liquid burning as it went down his throat. It did little to calm him, Lezard noting his hands were visibly trembling. Actually shaking with excitement. He tried to be stern with himself, knowing it would serve no one to get his hopes up for a potential disappointment. After all, he had no guarantee of his success. And he had been disappointed so many times before.
Perhaps it is the rum. Or perhaps it is the fact that he is so sure his victory is at hand. But Lezard can't keep his mind from wandering, from his thoughts traveling back to the disappointments he's suffered where she is concerned. There haven't been that many, but each one has left a mark on him. Each one is proof of her rejection. Lezard drinks deeply of his rum and broods, wondering if, hoping that tonight will be the turning point in a lifetime's worth of disappointments.
Thinking back on it is easy. Too easy. The first of her rejections had come the night he had killed his teacher and her husband. Their lifetime of love abruptly ended was the lure in which to bring his heart's desire to him. Lezard had had vessels prepared, ones he could now recognize to be imperfect compared to the body he has crafted just this last week. The bodies, regardless of their quality, were meant for her. A vessel to host her immortal soul. A vessel meant to bring her down from her lofty perch in the heavens. To make possible the love that he craved from her.
Deluded though he was said to be, Lezard was no fool. He well knew there was no way for him to hold a Goddess to him. Not so long as divinity sparked in her body. He had to make mortal of that which was divine, render her powerless and dependent on him. It hadn't gone the way he had planned. She had balked at his intentions, actually attacking him and the bodies he had made for her. Months of hard work ruined in an instant, with Lezard having nothing to show for it except a scintillating first introduction with his beloved.
The next meeting wouldn't be nearly as provoking. She was too well guarded, those two watch dogs of hers keeping a mistrustful eye on Lezard. Even as he labored to save her life, her very soul, he hadn't been allowed to do more than look at her. And once she was restored to something so much more than what she had once been, his beloved hadn't had one word of thanks to him. Hadn't even acknowledge him.
It was a snub, as cutting as any other. Lezard couldn't fail to be insulted, especially after all he had done for her. To be so ignored was bad enough, but to hear her wailing for another man? Some undeserving bastard who had wormed his way into her heart simply by chance? It was unforgivable! It was more than that, it was inconceivable! How had that other man done it? How had he stolen her out from under Lezard? What manner of trickery had he used? And how could she have fallen for it? His anger over this manifested in the fist around the rum glass. It would actually start to splinter apart from the force he was using, though that sound did not come close to drawing him out of his rage.
Lezard would never, ever understand how she could have given her heart to someone else. How she could have failed to recognize that he was the infinitely better choice, the only one who was truly devoted to her. He had killed for her. He had destroyed lives, and given her the power to rebuild the universe. And she had turned her back on him without even so much as a thank you.
Not that Lezard would ever be satisfied with just simple gratitude. He wanted it all from her. Everything she had to give and then some. And he would take it to. By force if need be. It was why he labored so hard to catch her. To snatch her away from everything she had ever known, from that man and the heavens that she called her home.
Enough time had passed that she had probably forgotten all about Lezard's threat. Pity for her, pity for her followers. He hadn't wanted to wait. Hadn't wanted to be forgotten. But the homunculous had taken time to be perfected. Just as it had taken time to store up the power needed for the incantation. As impatient as he had become, Lezard could acknowledge some good had come from all that waiting. She, and the people that surrounded her, had let down their guard. It would be one of the last mistakes they would ever make.
They would lose. And not just their lives. Their very existence was in danger, their souls in jeopardy. Only she would be spared. Because no matter how angry Lezard was with her, he could never do any lasting harm to his beloved. He did after all love her. He even wanted to see her thrive, albeit while at his side. The ultimate in dreams? To have her come to accept and appreciate him back. To return his affection. It would take time for that to happen, but Lezard was determined that they would have all the time in the world. He'd wait out all of eternity if need be, to whittle down her resistance. One way or another, he'd make her love him. And if not him, then at least the things he would do to her. He was after all, a most accomplished lover when he cared to be. And she was definitely worthy of taking that effort.
Just the mere thought of the pleasures awaiting them both was enough to get Lezard to relax his hand. The rum glass was dangerously close to shattering apart completely. The drink actually spilled through the cracks. Lezard stared at the damaged glass as though it was some unrecognizable thing. And then he was throwing it, watching it smash apart against the floor.
It was forgotten almost immediately when the screams sounded. Lezard sat up from his slouching position, eyes alight with a wicked delight. The voice was female, her screams ones of pure anguish. It seems his guest had finally awakened, and had done so in a most spectacular fashion. Those tortured screams held no words to them and yet they conveyed her emotion well. She was distraught, and judging by the crashes that followed, rampaging about the locked room.
Lezard didn't immediately rise. He'd actually take the time to enjoy her torment, to let the melody of her fear and confusion play out in his ears. He had always liked the songs of birds best, and it had been Lezard's experience that the caged bird was the one who sang the sweetest song. And to Lezard, there was no sweeter song than the screams that he was hearing.
Smiling in a manner that he considered to be most pleasant, but was actually quite predatory, Lezard stood. His trapped quarry continue to wail, her disorientation apparent in that sound. It made him wonder if soul transfusion HURT, or if she couldn't simply stand the lessened senses of her all too mortal body now. Lezard actually had quite a few questions to ask her, as curious about her transformation as he was eager to be with her. The question was, which was stronger?
He thought he had his answer the instant that Lezard entered the room. He had never forgotten how lovely she was, and indeed he had labored for days to make her new body resemble her last one. Her beautiful white flesh was pale, but not so light as it had been before the body had welcomed in her soul. That paleness suited her, her long hair an extraordinary color. A platinum hue that when viewed in the light, seemed to take on the vaguest of blue tints.
She was on her knees, the skirt of the white gown he had dressed her body in, pooling around her legs. At first he didn't see her eyes. She was too overcome with shock, too grief stricken to do anything more than hunch over and cry. She wouldn't look up at him, until he allowed the door to slam shut behind him. And then he would watch as the shock gave way to recognition.
"YOU!" She managed to cry out, her voice angry but not yet over her earlier upset.
"Yes, me." He agreed, and smiled at her. That expression seemed to enrage her. With a wordless scream, she attempted to lurch up right. She wasn't yet steady on her feet, actually stumbling for her efforts. Lezard would move without thinking, coming close enough to put his arms around her. To trap her in his embrace. She wasn't grateful for his assistance, her hands shoving rudely at his chest. She gave him no command, and yet her dislike was obvious. She wanted him to let her go.
Instead he held her closer, inhaling her scent. She smelled of the soap and the shampoo he had bathed her in, her scent sweet like those flowers. She continued to push at his chest, trying to escape his hold. He was so enamored with having her near, he almost missed the blood spotting on her hands. She was injured, and there was no doubt her hurt had occurred when she had set about to escaping from this room.
He wondered if she had split her delicate skin open by banging on the locked door. Or when scrambling to wrench aside the bars on the window. It wasn't a deep wound, and yet he felt angry just the same. How dare she injure the body he had given her! The body he had painstakingly labored on. Without a word, he was lifting her, carrying the equally upset woman over to the bed.
She gasped when he sat her down on the edge, Lezard dropping to his knees. He held on to her right arm, eyes narrowing as he looked at the cuts on her hand's knuckles. "You have to be careful." He chided, his voice not losing the edge of anger to it. "You are mortal now, and can be hurt far easier." He knew no healing spells. That had never been an area of interest for him. He'd have to tend to her wounds the old fashion way.
She wasn't content to let him help her. Lezard would have to keep a brutal grip on her arm as he attempted to clean her cuts with some water. "How could you do it?" She asked as he tended to her wounds. "How could you...no...how DID you do it?!"
"A true wizard never gives up his tricks." He said teasingly. She was not amused, those angry eyes of hers narrowing into a glare. He almost sighed then, so affected by that look of hers. "Ah Lenneth..." Lezard ignored her insistence that he not speak so familiarly to her. "It was easy to replicate the circumstances of your previous transcension." It was actually a lie, Lezard having had to spend months preparing for this feat.
"Previous transcension?" She looked confused, losing her glare to frown at him instead. "What are you talking about?"
His eyebrows lifted, Lezard surprised. But he could see her confusion was real, Lenneth sincerely not knowing to what he had referred to. And that made him angry, Lezard baring his teeth in a scowl. It shouldn't have surprised him that the others had kept the truth from her. They had been clearly threatened by him, by the things Lezard could do, and the power he wielded. But to let that fear and jealousy cloud their better judgment? To let it keep them from warning her about just how much Lezard was capable of? Sheer folly on their part, pure and simple.
"Dear Goddess..." He watched her bristle at that endearment. "It is really quite simple. It was I who was responsible for your evolution. I who enabled you to transcend the limits of your divinity. I who not only saved your soul, but all of Creation through that saving. Everything that's happened, it was all thanks to me! Lezard Valeth." He smiled then, though his eyes didn't lose that hard edge of anger. He didn't expect Lenneth to fall into his arms in gratitude. That would have been too easy. But he hadn't expected her to slap him, feeble though her strike was.
"You..." Her arm trembled just as violently as the rest of her. Lenneth glared at him, her mouth a pretty sneer. "You are the worst. A degenerate, sick, sadistic killer. You've run rampant for too long. You've violated the very laws of nature, ruined lives, and crushed dreams."
"I've also saved you." He reminded her, watching as she scoffed.
"And you expect me to be grateful? For that and for this?" She gestured at her new body, her disdain apparent for what he had done. "You truly are insane!"
"Genius such as mine has often been considered that." He was nonchalant, hardly bothered by her insult. "It matters little in the end what word you apply to me. The fact remains, you are here. An accomplishment that no other has managed." A gloating smile crossed his lips. "Nor shall they ever." Lezard leaned into her, watching with amusement as Lenneth tried to shift away from him. "Love it, or hate it, the fact remains I have accomplished the impossible. And for that, I should be admired."
"You've stolen me from my home! Snatched me away from my very body! Impressed is the last thing that I am!"
"You are still adjusting Lenneth." Lezard was unperturbed. "In time you will…"
"There is nothing!" Her words cut him off, Lenneth practically shouting over his voice. "Nothing you can say, nothing you can do, that would ever change how I feel. About what you have done, and about YOU!"
Lenneth followed those words up with another slap, as though she thought to impact their meaning into him with her strike. Lezard was slow in reacting to that blow of hers, his expression calm as he blinked. He'd make no move to adjust his glasses, instead staring at her with unwavering determination. A lesser, more uncertain woman would have balked to be at the focal point of his attention. Lenneth just glared, as though she thought to cow him into giving up.
"Well, now." Lezard said at last, a positively evil smile on his face. "I will just have to prove how wrong you truly are about that." He didn't imagine the shiver that went through her, Lenneth's eyes widening as she realized he was actually relishing the challenge that she offered him. He expected her to fight, to resist him with all her might. She wouldn't be the Goddess he so craved, if she went meekly to her fate. He'd enjoy her struggles, just as Lezard would enjoy watching her defeat, Lenneth succumbing to the pleasures he offered. And now looked the perfect time as any to get started.
To Be Continued…
Michelle