A/N – Very graphic little one shot thingy that makes pretty much no sense whatsoever. Simply wrote this on a whim, and it's pretty horrible. I mean that in the sense that I'm a little ashamed I came up with something with such little... purpose, I guess. Any who, maybe you'll get some enjoyment out of it.
�
Also, this whole symbols thing is really pissing me off. I've had to delete the story, and edit this document fucking 3 times now.
�
�
The Matrix Odyssey
The skin split apart evenly, a smooth cut severing the dead cells and forming a red chasm of gore. The man strained against the thick steel cuffs and the heavy iron chain that bound him to the stained table. The flickering candlelight only made the horrific experience of dissection that much more awful for the poor specimen a certain Dunmer was currently preoccupied with.
Ruun's nimble fingers, clad in the enchanted, silken material of his cloak parted the long cut that stretched from the apex of the Imperial's collar bones down to his belly button. The cut had been made by a simple flexing of Ruun's great stores of magicka into a weapon of the telekinetic variety, an invaluable tool for both combat and experimentation. The red eyes of the Dunmer cast a small glow into the gaping maw that exposed a living man's writhing intestines that shuddered as the damp, musty and cool air brushed against them. Darren Witholm was beginning to pass into a state of shock.
Dark, crimson rivulets of blood poured from the ends of the cuts in a spell driven, orderly manner, falling down the Imperial's ruined abs and into the slight indents that ran down the sides of the cold block table in parallel fashion to collect in the black crystal goblet which sat on an outstretched platform at the bottom end of the table. Ruun sighed, a barely audible whisper in comparison to the frantic, incessant, yet (thankfully) muffled whimpers that were rapidly growing in volume. The vampire cast his fearsome gaze to the man's tear stricken, bloodshot orbs and flooded the Imperial's frail sixth sense with a burst of tainted magicka. The man's eyes shriveled and sunk back into his skull. The horrible whining finally stopped.
Ruun frowned, then turned away from the corpse and looked towards the iron barred gate on the far wall, "Who's next?"
�
�
Ruun bit into the dancer's throat, his hips still thrusting mightily into her groin. Around him his Mazken and Aureals guards shifted unsteadily as their Lord satisfied his two greatest hungers with the frail, white skinned woman who cried out at each rough intrusion of her god. The Mad God had changed things drastically since he had halted the encroaching army of Order. Sheogorath was a much different being than any of the Royal Court of Madness had ever encountered, even in this twisted land of madness.
A great, demonic roar filled the palace as Ruun finished into the woman, and ceased drawing blood from her burning veins. He picked her up by the waist and gave her a small shove, "Be gone with you, whore. I have no more need of you. See to it the healer fixes you up. I may require some assistance later." The Madgod's tongue arched out of his mouth and licked up the remnants of her blood. He fixed his robe to a more presentable state and turned to the Mazken at his side, and as he stood let one of his hands reach around and cup her buttocks through the skirt armor she wore. Naturally she made no complaint and even leaned in his direction. After all, Sheogorath was the all powerful king of the Shivering Isles. He was the creator and controller of all things present in this realm. She had no right to refuse this God of his desires.
"You know, I wish the pale whore wasn't such a weak piece of trash. It's so much fun to dominate her pathetic spirit, but it grows tiresome having such a weak creature writhe and moan and groan those annoying noises while I'm trying to finish up," Ruun said and the Mazken simply nodded, a slight flush to her dark features. The Madgod turned away and drew his hand from her. "I shall return in several weeks time. Haskill, I trust you to keep things... in line?" Without waiting for a response, Ruun made his leave and cast the incantation of teleportation, his target the Gate back to the mortal world.
�
�
No sooner had the mortal entered Cyrodill, virtually stripped of his "God Given Might" he could sense something amiss, but couldn't quite fathom how such a foreboding, ominous presence could appear so qui-
Ruun flew several feet, then slammed and skidded along the ground, a single arrow piercing through his skull. The Madgod of The Shivering Isles lay spread about on the ground, his face a messy splatter of gore that painted the rock a deep, dark crimson. Just to the side lay the torn apart remains of the noble guardsman that sought to keep Cyrill's inhabitants from tainting their sanity with the Shiver Isles' vile touch.
The two others present on the small Island also lie dead, split apart at the waist, their organs thrown about as if from a great explosion.
�
�
Across the shore Tsagoth lifted the visor to his Crusader's helm and dropped Elven Bow into its holder on his mount's saddle. The Hero of Kvatch dismounted and frowned, before downing a potion of sea stride, intent on relieving his twin of the items he carried.
"Can't have that mess infecting my country. No sir."