WARNING: contains mild: incest, homosexuality, violence, and severe insanity.

This is my first fanfiction...and it's not really very fanfictionish at that -.-; (actually an english assignment), just to warn you.

I'll more than happily accept any comments, suggesgions, and even flames (not mindless)...as long as you back up what you say, and it is relevant to improvements I could make. I'd like it if you were as truthful as possible.

If you are offended by, or do not like any of the themes stated above, I am not forcing you to read.

The darkness

Be my victim. Be my everlasting lust. Let me hurt you. Let me torture you. Let me make you scream. Let me show you fear like you've never seen before.

Like an inferno of all seven hells combined, the darkness consumes me, eliciting moans and screams from these thin parched lips. I am almost what the darkness wants…is, by now. I am what is left after cool isolation and burning hate strips a person of their love and sanity, my physical appearance a hunching, deformed abomination, though nothing compared to what is within. Every humanistic need and instinct is gone, never to return, only the corruption and unseen spite of society and myself to blame. If you could see what it can do, the unknown evil that takes place almost everyday, it would not be so difficult to place that barrel to the temple, as I did not so long ago. But no. If I am never to do something again, to swear myself against it forever more, it is the path of the craven, too long have I danced away from this cruel, but just end destiny leaves me. I am gone now, past regret, past pain, past anything you could possible fathom. I am a creature of the darkness, the only one ever to escape death…Or so the last human part of me believes.

The only way I might let you understand is to tell you my tale of nothing more, nothing less, than the unforgivable, unquenchable desire for life, the heart and soul that was never mine. Utter freedom. I interpret this how I will, and it may not become clear straight away, or even at all why I give such a name.

But before I go on to describe these events, the parts of my life lived in Yuka-tan, and a little before that, there is one thing I must let you know. Indeed the urgency of which I press upon you, whoever you are, is, perhaps the single most important thing you will ever hear: I chose this path, it was my decision and my decision alone that brought me here. Granted society gave me the tools I needed for such a job, was the only way I might have discovered such a path, I am the only one to blame. Let me assure you that.

Twenty four years ago, on the day that marked my fifteenth year of life, it began. Up till then, and a little after perhaps, I was still a child, still a boy, though I didn't think so myself. Oh no; the arrogance humanity and adolescence proves to be an ever-present sin. But all children grow up someday, and that day was my day, my awakening if you like. You may not understand at the start, or maybe even at all, I have said before, how this brought me to become such a creature, and let me warn you the following events will come to you as a muddled mesh of a story. But this is how I see it best understood, best taken for what it is.

I see I've strayed too long in the petty formalities of an opening, I shall begin.

My obsidian gaze swept over an equally crepuscular room, every wall, from floor to ceiling was painted blackish grey. Nought filled the room, save for a Mahogany chair, bureau and bed. The bed always had seemed a little small for me - its single inhabitant at that time. Almost to a comical extent, Arthur, my father was inclined to remind me, and often too may I remark. My face once again fell into it's typical expression as I though of him, the only one of about four I'd been pulling for the last year or so; a dissatisfied moue, and I let my head fall back against black sheets, breathing out slowly through my nose. Sleep hadn't taken me for most of the night, not for about a year. Ysabelle and Jess, or mother and Sister as I was encouraged to call them, found my insomnia a great incredulity. Especially mother; no son of hers was troubled. The second; a smirk, showed through and I sat up, stretching my back as I did so.

I blinked, once, twice, stepping away from my bed, and the tears were streaming, and I'd lost myself. I was captivated, frozen, eyes fixated upon her beautiful, perfect face, sparkling in the dim light of the kitchen. I took a step forwards, hands barley trembling as I squeezed hers harder, harder, harder, pushed them up to stop her struggling, so small in mine, so perfect…in mine. The contrast was almost enough of a shock to stop me, strange as it was. She made a small

"Aahh," my grip perhaps too hard, and flinched back further into the wall, though making no move more than that. My eyes stalked down over jess' body, lingering on her breast, no longer in its slow tidal rise and fall, but jerking in time with the gasps that left her sweet lips.-- My own captured them without hesitation.-- All I could see from then on were her eyes, wide, and staring into me, pure terror clouding them.-- Her smell, taste and feel filled me as quick as this inane, unstoppable desire was growing, and I finally felt it, something, stirring deep inside me. I felt alive, I felt human, my mind was blank and empty, but I could feel something breaking free of its chains. Free at last.

I bent down and whispered thirty words into her ear, before walking away slowly, my smile wide as could be. As I left the room, and licked the blood from my fingers, I looked back and muttered,

"Night, sister." Jess would never wake. She was the first, but not the last.

I had been a strange child after all, always fixated with the gruesome, the macabre and grim, it was not half surprising to find I had such a side to me.

"What's this?" I lifted a hand to my face, replacing the book mark. Little red splotches here and there in front of my gaze.

"How…curious…" 'Be my…Be my…' I tried to ignore the voice suddenly playing in my mind. My lids drooped a little, tongue at the substance, lapping gently like a cat…Our cat….Calciphur. What a coincidence, he'd walked straight into the room, tortoise shell fur gleaming in the firelight, purring ever so slightly. I shook my head, as though swatting a fly…Something… was wrong, Calciphur was…flickering...no that wasn't the right word…It was like something I'd seen before, yet I couldn't place my finger on what. His body kept… not quite disappearing, more like a visual representation of how a radio goes in and out of tune, yet much more abruptly. Fizzing, then crackling, then going again, then coming abruptly into focus. He turned his head to stare unblinkingly into my eyes, his own pitiless ones seeming to bore straight though me. It was barley a glance…and yet….why did it feel like so much more? I…began to hear a whispering…a mutter, as though he sat with his mouth to my ear. And then…

'Hello Howl' The voice had come from no where, though I knew it was him.

Scream after petrified scream was suddenly leaving me, I was so scared, so absolutely terrified. I stumbled back off the chair, throwing myself from him. Any thing to get away, any thing at all. The fear possessed me like nothing I'd ever felt before, so great I had not even the capacity to wonder why I was so. My head lashed back against the wall, and the shrieks subsided for a second as I closed my eyes, pain almost taking over…But suddenly I was doing it again and again and again, the agony so much better than the fear.

'I know what you did.' I froze, breathing heavily, the searing numbed,

"Wh-..Shut up…" was all I could gasp. I began to struggle, some unseen force had a pincer like grip on both my shoulders shaking me like how a preacher might rid someone of the devil, causing blood to trickle down my neck and seep into the grey cotton turtle neck I'd donned this morning. I could feel it, so sticky and warm. 'I know…what you did…'

"Shut up!"

'Want me to…want…me…to remind you?…Want me to…to…' A soft laugh sounded, then spiralled into a roaring frenzy of a sound, nothing discernable in the furore.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"

'Want me…to…remind you?'

I felt so warm, so fuzzy and warm. It would be so easy to stop and just sleep. It didn't even feel like I was the one screaming now; the sound still left me, louder, louder, louder, but…

'The body count is nearing 60 now, I need more, more. This will never be enough. I will never be good enough. There's never enough. Never.'

She slumped to the ground, enshrouded by a single silver beam cascading from the sky, and I watched her fall, limbs half flailing. It was impossible not to: captivating.

'Be my…' My fingertips hesitated a second, as though afraid, then moved forwards before I brushed them gently over her lips. Her name was Maria.

'Be my…' After reaching up to lick the blood from one with my tongue, and smiling down upon this new 'integrant', it was a moment before I moved much more at all. Only my eyes traced a path across her flawless skin and crimson stained locks for those precious few seconds.

That was when they came, sirens blaring, guns at the ready. I was 17 the day they took me to Yuka-tan.

An alchemists' guide to the black arts, Page 54, Chapter 12: The phoenix, or philosopher of the virgins stone.

Be my victim. Be my everlasting lust. Let me hurt you. Let me torture you. Let me make you scream. Let me show you fear like you've never seen before.

Two hundred kissed virgins,

Lying in a row-

Buried underneath the rose bud snow.

Thirty small words,

Echoes in each left ear-

Nothing more for them to hear.

Seven circles,

Of the sun-

To get this daffodil deed done.

One small spell,

And three precious things-

For a drink of phoenix wings.

Bluebells are ringing in the twilight wood -

Follow me home, little butterfly,

To the ends of the earth.
End

28th June 91

Dear Diary,

This is my second diary, but probably last. I'm twenty, twenty one tomorrow, though I don't think you'll care. I keep track of the days, of every day I've been here. It's not like anything changes; we get up, take a shower, have breakfast, go to work, have dinner, go to bed, or like I enjoy it, but it's just the same as out there. If you forget the walls, and the auditors - our keepers, and stare at the sky for long enough, it's not so different.

I'm on 120 now, I'm getting closer.

You might wonder how I find them, in a place like this, surely Yuka-tan, the 'greatest prison in the west', would have none, but consider its size; several million inmates, like a small Great Britain. Everyone's bound to have their secrets in such a place. Granted it's 'all male', I'm not going to let a little problem like gender stay in my way (and I feel quite safe saying that there's more than a few hundred women and girls who've smuggled themselves in). Perhaps my method is a little rash, but murder is only half the fun.

111 left me a gun, and a box filled with bullets. It was an auditor actually, that gave them, his services , I must admit, most useful.

I watch him walk a pace ahead, almost pulling me forwards, smooth dark hair swaying slowly in the soft breeze. He's 17, though you wouldn't know it, he looks about my age. His fingers are clasped, shaking in mine. I can tell it would be his first time, but I'm not here for that, I'm here for something much more important. He'll be the 170. The book left plenty of loopholes considering timing, so any seven consecutive years since it began could be considered the right ones. Seeing as I began my count the day I came to Yuka-tan again, I don't think I'll be having any problems.

But…I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sure I'd enjoy this just a little more than any of the other time.

Apart from that time.

The first….

5th March 82

Dear diary,

What do you do when you know all you ever wanted was perfection and it's the only thing you're never going to get? You know it's impossible, but you keep pointing all the bad things out, keep reminding yourself what you don't have, and finding all the worst faults in what you do have, and the closest you'll ever get to what you want, to your idea of perfection. What do you do when the one of the things you want is something nearly everyone else has, something that's so simple, but like another world to you. You'll fake having it every day, and maybe the fake ness becomes so normal, such a part of you, you start to forget where the mask ends and you begin, and you start to forget who you really are. You know you'll always be trying to find it, you'll always be different, but the fact you want it so much means you remind yourself of it too much, and you can't have it, because maybe if you forgot you were trying to find it long enough, forgot all the wrong things and only saw the good ones, you'd actually have a chance of getting it.

I just want a harmonious equilibrium, but isn't that what everyone does?

It makes me smile to hear her say I'm starting to look enigmatic, when all I've been thinking about, is her. I've learned to try and forget now, though I never get very far when I really want to. Maybe some day I'll go too far…maybe I did then…Maybe I'll end up hurting her because I want her so much. Or maybe I just want to think I want her…maybe the though of not loving someone makes me feel like I'm not really here, not really human. I've walked this path in my head a hundred times before, and the answers always different yet always the same.

It's like after I fought with Arthur…I felt so alive. To see yourself so damaged, to experience such pain…it's like it makes you realise you're still human, that there is something else you can still feel. I don't know what to feel anymore…

Maybe I'm going crazy, but…I'm sure I'm not just imagining the words the replay over and over in my mind. It's been happening since around the 160's…

He is so close now the flutter of his breath tickles my lips, the one hand resting gently under my chin no longer shaking.

'Be my…'

I can let this last. I'm not going to go too far.

'Be my…victim…'

Besides, it's been a long time since I felt the warmth of an embrace, and his kiss and his arms feel so….so…

'Be my…everlasting lust…'

It's O.k. if he holds me a little longer…isn't it?

'Let…me…hurt you..'

…Isn't it?

Why am I crying…? Why do I want this so much? What's wrong with me? It was never this hard before….

For the first time in 3 years I'm scared. Was I ever this afraid of myself?

He tries to pull me in closer, tries to hug it all away, but I've had quite enough. I don't want this…not really. I'm smirking again as I raise the gun to his head, as…as… My eyes flick to the ground…Why does he remind me of her? Why…why? Why am I asking myself all these questions? I shake my head and look back, drawing in close, the pistol still raised. The questions don't matter and neither does he, only the fact he's a virgin and the fact he's going to die do.

His eyes are so wide, so scared that I can't help but let my smirk widen. I suddenly find it impossible to stop the words spilling out of my mouth as easily as if they'd been nothing. The pistol feels warmer in my fingers now…I must be so pumped with adrenalin that I'm starting to feel things….

"You know… the funny thing is….I don't even want to do it this time…I never 'don't want to do it'…you're…the first…I don't even know your name. Hell! The first time I'd seen you in my life was barley two days ago…and yet…" My voice is nearing hysteria and I laugh suddenly, loudly and he jumps. His fingers are shaking once more, now pulled up into his chest as though able to save the life he's about to loose.

"But enough about me, how about I say a little something about you. Let you in on some…inside knowledge?" He's barley moved away, just standing there. His eyes aren't even on the gun…they're…staring straight at me…. WHY IS HE STAIRING AT ME AND NOT THE PISTOL?

I bring the pistol back and slam it into his face, causing him to stagger back a little.

"STOP LOOKING AT ME! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" The pistol is brought backwards and forwards after every 'stop it'. The blood is pouring down his face. Why isn't he…why isn't he…doing…anything? And then I see it, the red staining his chest; three crimson circles slowly growing into a shapeless formless…inevitability. When did I shoot? Was it before he started kissing me? After?

His breathing is growing fainter and fainter…I may as well…Let's not have him go to waste.

I whisper the thirty words into his ear, my tongue like a lead weight in my mouth.

"Be my victim…Be my everlasting lust. Let me hurt you…Let me torture you. Let me make you scream. Let me…show you fear like…you've never…seen…before."

The journey after that was none too a pleasant one. He wasn't too much bigger than me, and there was only a short walk to the place I'd chosen…and yet….Every step was an eternity, an eternity of nothingness, with his arms lying limply around me and his lips pressing cold into my skin. He half sat, half slumped against my back, lifeless eyes staring to the side. It's a strange thing to feel his warmth fading, as though the further he fades, the further I do…if I concentrate I know I'm not really here…the only thing left is the emptiness, the fact that I have nothing left to live here…it's so ironic I laugh, but the laugh is a bitter one, a hopeless one.

After I laid him to rest on the soft earth, I paused a minute and cast a last glance over the person I'd cried with, kissed, hugged and killed, then wiped away the tears that had long since fallen. It took me two hours to dig down, to find his place. Rubbing into the left hand side of my make shift grave, I found a set of fingers, quite cold, and smiled.

8th November 93

Dear diary,

I still have seven months. I still have time. I will succeed.

I'm on 195.

The more I hurt them, scare them, what ever it takes to get a reaction, the more I feel alive, the more I'm reassured I'm still here. But each time…I want more, each time I need to cause more pain, more suffering.

I've found myself starting fights, cutting myself, hurting myself to feel something. I need the pain like I need oxygen, I need the reassurance that I'm still alive and that I can still bleed, that I'm still breathing. Even if that's a pretty poor way to convince myself, I like to know I really am breathing and haven't lost so much consciousness I can't even tell I'm already dead.

Some times it's like I really am so, I try to concentrate on myself, but there's nothing to concentrate on…and I know I shouldn't not feel anything…that it's not right…

But the more I think this, the more I wonder if perhaps, there is something wrong with my big plan. The more I realise that thinking this doesn't worry me or scare me…the more I know I've stopped feeling all together…that I can't any more…Only the pain lets me exist…and it's impossible to quench this new desire for it.

Sometimes when I look over myself, bruised and broken…I…I have this absolute certainty, that if I can't believe in anything else; the though that I'm hurting, that I'm not right, and it's is a punishment, is the one thing I can believe in. Ideserve this pain, even if I don't know why, or feel no regrets that would deserve punishing, I know I deserve it, I know it and trust it heart and soul. Though I have none.

This small stability, normality, is all I live for now, other than the pain. It's something that reassures me, I know it's true and pure. There are no words to describe how long I've yearned for something pure and selfless I can believe in with my everything.

It makes me laugh to know the thing I'd desired so utterly before, has reduced me to what I was so desperate to escape from.

'199, one more…who do I cho-'

'Hello…Howl. Long time…no see..'

'…I'm going to ignore you.'

'It's been…about…8 years.. Nearly 9…'

'Maybe him…no…it's a girl…hmm…the thirty-second I've seen I think..'

'You…know you…can….stop before it's too…late'

'…What-…what do you mean?'

'Only the…the truth…the…'

'Stop-….Stop laughing…What's so funny?!'

'..Ho…wl…It's the…the truth…the truth…you've denied yourself all…along…'

'Why are you laughing!?'

'Did you never…never understand…understand…the last….part of…the poem?…Did you never…understand the…intent…of what you…read?…Life was…never enough…for…you...was it?…You had to…make yourself...another…another…something…something'

'What!?…Calciphur? What do you mean? Where are you?…Calciphur? Calciphur?!'

'I don't have much time, I have to finish tonight; my deadline is fast approaching. I will pick my last selection and breathe easily soon, but for now I will do almost what ever it takes.'

The minute I see her I know it. She is the one, she is perfect.

As she falls, then penny is rolling and beginning to drop to it's rather pained awakening.

I groan away a few passing lamentations, my head thumping a rhythmic salsa, my throat so dry I think it'll tear any second. Who knew achieving your ends achieved such side effects? Blinking a couple of times, the fact I'm lying on the floor, that there's blood dribbling down over my eye, obscuring my vision dawns on my turgid mind, and I find myself a little curious as to why. There was no explosion…but maybe-

I'm now uncomfortably aware of the gun pressing like ice into the back of my neck.

"2940, put your hands on your head and stand up."

"But it worked didn't it?…Right…?"

"2940, please calm down, we have detained the 200 bodies buried next to your person. They will be named, and disposed of. You will be taken into custody for questioning in the near future. That is all. You are now free to go to take a shower and await further notices, wait in your cabin."

I can't say a word. My mind is totally and utterly blank save for the single question, 'Did it work?'

The questioning is in two days, and my hand still aches from the shot wound I inflicted upon myself.

'I hope you under…understand…now…Howl?…Some…times fantasies are…so…much better…than the…than the reality…we…live in…aren't…they?'

The truth tastes bitter doesn't it?

Well I hope you like it. Thankyou sooo much if you even read it. .

Toodles for now.

xXx