Happy belated New Year, my Honeys.
This piece just crept up on me a few days ago and I had to write it. I've always been desperate to try something new, especially if I can explore something of a Reversal Kentucky plot. Also, I adore writing pieces that are a bit darker and entwined with the supernatural as well.
Since I've gone all out with this one, I'll be updating my other two fics as the time calls for it. Hehe, there definitely needs to be more Arthur Eggsy fics, so I've decided to add one more to my collection as well.
Just a fair warning, this one is going to bloody and violent. I hope it is enjoyable, however.
Prologue: Time's Dominion
Ash. Rain. Repugnant embers of scorched brick and tar. Gunpowder and blood. Explosives dying with ghastly whorls of white smoke dancing indolently upon recently extinguished flame… The lingering scent of static ozone was clinging frenetically to fizzing air molecules, the cresting waves of nauseating reality creating an aroma so thick and all-consuming it was more than enough to coax a knot of bile into the back of an unexpected throat.
Eggsy Unwin was swallowing hard at the numb confusion creeping up the length of his spine, viridian green eyes stinging painfully at the remnants of smouldering ash as the rain — soaked with bitter deluge — trailed scorching hot trails across soot smeared cheeks. He was gazing disbelievingly at the scooped out remnants of a vaguely familiar shop on Savile Row, the formally white walls having been imploded and exploded beyond any means of repair as splintered wood and twisted metal decorated leagues of cobblestoned pavement.
It was a scene that belayed nothing but tragedy. A single instant in time that had wiped away a cheery boutique — a split-second of fear—.
A bitter bang —.
— Likened to the darkness that steadily consumed his life.
A circular disk of pink and intricately twined gold was clasped desperately between trembling fingertips, the twenty-six year old not knowing where to look or whom to turn to. This place, he recognised it. He had been here over seventeen years ago, the ghost of his father trailing morosely behind him as he sullenly slipped passed brass-handled doorways and into a detached, hunter-green, biosphere.
He could still remember the countless pairs of deer antlers dripping like iced stalactites from the ceilings, rolls and swatches of lavish fabrics spread across twin tables at the front of the shop, a roaring fire in the antique marble heath and a shadowed figure reclining elegantly on a leather couch before a dressing room. The curious old man at the shop's counter had then graciously dipped his head forward in a bow like his nine-year-old-self was worthy of the deference.
Dressed as he had been in jeans, a hoodie, his small stature, snapback and scuffed trainers; it couldn't have been further from the truth. Yet, it had not changed the curve of the gentleman's smile or the fact that he had greeted him by name:
"Good afternoon, Young Master Unwin." He had said all proper-like. "I'll see if Galahad is available to see you, shall I?" At the time Eggsy had thought the grey-haired tailor had been talking to Lee Unwin's ghostly shade behind him, drenched in the blood and burnt-out smoke of his violent death as he lingered protectively behind his son's back. The young boy had shuddered viciously however, at the soul-deep wrongness that slid down his spine as a supposedly familiar left hand came to rest upon his shoulder.
The exposed bones of Lee's forefinger and thumb, clicked in macabre fascination close to the shell of the nine-year-old's ear as the steady drip-drip of scarlet blood discoloured the plush carpet beneath their feet. It had been like a scene from a horror movie, the hairs on the back of the youth's neck standing on end as the vividness of the bitter memory seared itself permanently in the back of his mind.
Even now, after nearly two decades had passed and he was once again staring up the ruined remains of that high-end tailor shop; Eggsy felt the exact same sense of loss and unexpected trepidation creeping up his spine as he did then. He was silently mourning the loss of what could-have-been's, he realized. Even if he did not know exactly why he was doing so, especially since his memories of this place was locked so deeply into his subconscious it couldn't be found without the assistance of horrific nightmares.
'Jesus Christ, this is absolute shite.' He cursed himself, Eggsy couldn't remember venturing deep enough into the city proper to get here. Never mind how his feet had automatically found a place so far removed (socially and physically) from his usual home in Camden. Rowley Way was where he had grown up in during his youth, where his mother raised him through countless difficult years of nursing the bottle, shooting up drugs to satiate an unfulfilled need in life and even shittier boyfriends.
He was pretty sure he was defiling the street by merely standing here, unwanted and diseased molecules spreading out from wherever his winged trainers touched as a black zip-up hoodie, tight jeans and blue striped polo shirt became far too chavy for the rest of the posh-as-fuck neighbourhood. Yet, he couldn't help but feel as if he was losing something vitally important to the cinders and ash dancing upon the wind.
There was something essential worked into the stone and concrete here, something that called out to the lost recesses of his soul that had been hidden away over the years for his protection. It was intrinsic, like the moment his father's ghost had stepped through the front door of their flat all those years ago and he had known everything would change. There was simply no telling what this place was, where it came from and why Eggsy felt so irrevocably drawn to here. It just was—.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' A soothing cadence interrupted his rapidly spinning thoughts, curious green eyes drifting down to glimpse polished black Oxfords treading a cautious path into the line of his sight. The octagonal shade of a newly opened umbrella was falling serendipitously over his frame, shielding his eyes from the constant pour of rain as his gaze tracked finely pressed plaid trouser cuffs, up shapely long legs and the delicate cinch of a trim waist before stopping at perfectly proportionate, dark-blue velvet clad shoulders.
A black bow tie was resting gallantly beneath the trim of a starched white collar, the flicker of a pale throat drawing his curious gaze upwards towards maturely handsome features as heavy-lidded, earthen brown eyes collided heatedly with viridian green from behind the lenses of thick tortoise-shell frames.
Holy fuckin' fuck, he hissed internally. What the fuckin' hell was this?
'I'm s-s-sorry?' He stuttered lamely, desperately trying to find something to fill the startled silence between them as he struggled to conceal the lewder direction of his thoughts from blatantly displaying across his face. He was eagerly drinking in the debonair sophistication clinging to the gentleman's perfectly bespoke attire, a warm shoulder unconsciously brushing up against his own as the small circumference of the umbrella barely afforded enough space to conceal their frames from the pissing rain.
The older man was stunningly fit for his age. Perfectly coifed mahogany curls, subtly threaded with silver filaments at the temples, moulded to an elegantly parted style as sweet smelling pomade and devastatingly sharp eyes drew the younger man's full attraction towards the lazy, confident, smirk curling deceptively playful across pale lips. The unexpected interloper to his internal soliloquy was easily in his late forties, early fifties. But even at that, Eggsy found himself colouring slightly beneath the piercing heat of the older man's full attention.
It was as if he was slowly being laid bare from within, those sharp eyes softening slightly beneath the harsh grey sunlight as a playful smirk shifted into something much fonder and deliberate.
'It's quite beautiful,' That lulling cadence repeated once more, successfully turning the twenty-six-year-old's attention back to the burnt out remains of the once high-end tailor shop spread out before them.
'Right, mate. Y' need te 'ave y'r eyes checked. There's nothin' left o' the place.' Eggsy pointed out, cringing internally at the bitter and unsophisticated grate encompassing his voice. The bespoke gentleman didn't seem to mind however, merely twirling a black umbrella between long fingertips so that droplets of water skidded like flecked diamonds into the distance.
A quiet chuckle was filling the small space left between them with sun-warmed amusement, the gentle press of another human being brushing up against the lost chav in a sensual caress he had never felt before as the lingering cold, creeping like ice through his bones, melted away into something a little darker and more intense. There was something otherworldly and unfamiliar flashing behind earthen brown eyes however, urging the twenty-six-year-old to drop his gaze as he shifted his stance awkwardly.
'Nonsense,' The man scoffed, almost offended. 'I can see how you would think that, young man.'
'However,' Emphasizing his words by dropping the shield of an umbrella to obscure their vision of the ruined brick building, a brilliant flash of lightning rumbled threateningly through the heavy black clouds as an unexpected touch of warm sunlight flooded through an array of newly formed gaps. The scent of singed cocoa and French labdanum was completely consuming the younger man's senses, briefly blacking out his awareness of time as viridian green eyes fluttered shut behind heavy eyelids.
'There is always potential in everything, Eggsy. Even more imperative when someone else can recognize it within you.' Jerking back in surprise at the distinctive snap of heavy black fabric being trundled back into place, an intricate iron railing was now rising protectively in front of a newly formed shop display. There was not a single hint of twisted metal and scorched brick in sight, the previously shattered storefront having ascended the ashes of its ruination to be just as intimidating and beautiful as he remembered it.
'W-what? How did you you—? That's—!' Eggsy was choking on his own breath, unable to believe what was playing out before his very eyes as he turned incredulous green eyes towards the tall frame standing half a step behind him.
'Kingsman.' The gentleman answered with a mysterious smile, almost as if the word alone was more than enough to answer the thousands of questions yearning to drip unbidden from the youth's tongue.
'You should come by some time.'
Yeah, no.
'What the fuck? Who the fuck're you?' Eggsy returned just as viciously. He didn't like being played with, neither did he know what the hell was going on. His mind was rapidly spinning out of control, reality throwing itself on its head as he stilled instinctively at the warm knuckles that brushed affectionately against the pink tinge of his cheeks.
'Galahad.' Came the whispered reply, a steady rhythm of footsteps leading the older man away from his charge as he was gifted one last sneaky grin over the man's velvet-clad shoulder. He was elegantly gliding up the stairs, the shop's newly established brass-handled door parting smoothly beneath his touch as he tapped the tip of a newly folded umbrella to dislodge remaining raindrops.
'Come on in.' Galahad urged with the tilt of his head, vanishing inside the dimmed, fire-lit, interior as only the faintest of words drifted out from behind him:
'We are eagerly awaiting your arrival, Arthur.'
...
What the fuck?! Dropping back violently into the vivid-bright awareness of his body, several heaving breaths stuttered painfully from the depths of bruised lungs as the bitter taste of blood bloomed heavily on the tip of a pink tongue. The pained sting of a split lip was successfully suspending the twenty-six-year-old's roving consciousness back in reality. And even though it wasn't truly that cold, Eggsy was trembling sporadically with uncontained shivers.
He was sitting rather neatly in the centre of a world painted with mutinous carnage, viridian green roving restlessly across the previously dull Black Prince interior as it became painted in the rivers of blood and guts from countless dead bodies. He was struggling to remember just how the fuck he ended up here, never mind what the hell had just happened.
It had merely been an average Tuesday afternoon for him, desperately trying to evade Dean's flying fists and protecting his mother from the harsher of punishments before he escaped the restrictive confines of the flat to fucking breathe. Only, he had blacked out as soon as he stepped into the pub proper.
All Eggsy could remember was a harsh ring reverberating deafeningly through the air, an unknown urge sliding like defiled mud across his soul as despairing darkness encroached upon the tainted edges of his vision. There was a distressing amount of dried blood crusted beneath the curve of his blunt fingernails, sticky vermilion red drops running sanctified rivulets across the curve of palms as high-velocity blood spatter discoloured the previously meticulous white of his most prized winged trainers.
The unmistakable scent of gun powder, metallic suffering and an ocean of red carmine was choking up his nostrils. A slew of weapons and shattered glass dotting the floor immediately around him as he wondered just how the bloke to his left had become impaled by two pieces of a disassembled handgun.
With the harsh training he endured in the Marines several years ago, it had become second nature to take apart such a weapon and put it back together in a matter of seconds. Never mind the fact that he had been an excellent marksman, one of the best his trainers had proclaimed in over thirty years. That wasn't to mention his physical aptitude and weapons combat skills—.
Jesus fuck?! This had been him, hadn't it? Eggsy could count several bodies with neat little holes in the centre of their foreheads, stab wounds, bullet wounds (all targeting vital organs) and others that stared vacantly at the ceiling with snapped necks and slit throats—.
'No, no, no, no, no.' He chanted breathlessly in denial, a dark understanding finally kindled to life in the deeper recesses of his mind. He was shakily forcing himself to his feet. Eggsy couldn't breathe, couldn't think—. Sharp twinges of pain were dancing like fireworks beneath his skin, mottled bruises discolouring the expanse of his forearms and hidden torso as a few stumbling steps re-orientated his violently tremoring stance. The instinctive silent tread of white trainers was splashing noisily across several gathering pools of blood, a vast array of emotions conjuring a violent storm to life in the darkest depths of his soul.
Unconsciously digging out a familiar pink and gold medal beneath a soiled blue polo shirt, trembling fingertips were eagerly enfolding the strange, twisted, symbol in the palm of his hand as the twenty-six-year-old struggled to ground the spinning thoughts threatening to overwhelm his mind. It was near impossible to compartmentalize the horrors he had no doubt just lived through, even more so now that he could not recall a single second of it.
Eggsy was hastily unlocking the pub doors, not even aware how they had been deliberately sealed in the first place as he stumbled outside into the blindingly bright sunlight. He could vividly recall the strange out of body experience he had just had, the way his memory had unapologetically created a miasma of destruction over Savile Row. Only, it had been lifted at the behest of a very attractive, bespoke suited, gentleman.
Galahad, he reminded himself.
What was it he had he said again? 'They' were waiting for him?
That was—.
Shoving away thoughts of the strange vision he had for now, viridian green eyes narrowed painfully at the brilliant daylight sparking pure discomfort across his vision as the familiar scent of London momentarily settled a deceptive calm over the youth's raging emotions. It was tainted with the scent of burning fire and ash however, shattered shards of glass crunching noisily beneath trainer-clad feet as Eggsy Unwin kept on walking without a single purpose. His mind was completely blank, his insides twisted up in a new and overpowering fear he had never felt before as pure animal instinct guided him forward.
The twenty-six-year-old was only vaguely aware of the civilized ruins of a vast city spread out before him, several people stained with blood and pain drifting listlessly through the complex street grids beside him as no one dared to engage another human being in normal everyday conversation. They were all too terrified of what would become of them, what had become of their ordinary, everyday, Tuesday afternoon.
Eggsy was no different, head dipped down beneath the hood of his counterfeit Adidas jacket as he clung to his father's military medal like a lifeline. He just needed to get out of here, to escape the despair drawing parallels to the unforgivable depths of his sins before he deliberately pitched himself into the River Themes without looking back.
Suspended a few meters above the dirty, churning, waters on Lambeth Bridge as he made his way to Millbank, it was only the slow, deliberate steps of one-foot-in-front-of-the-other that kept the twenty-six-year-old from enacting the brief but near irresistible desire. It was one of the hardest impulses he ever had to resist in his short lifetime. He continued on his path with single-minded purpose however, the barely explored but well-known route between Vauxhall and Mayfair only punctuated by the listless tread of bloodstained trainers and viridian green eyes staring unseeingly ahead.
How long he was only aware of the rhythmic pace set by his feet, Eggsy could not tell. But as the streets shifted and distorted to the higher end of London, time crawled into a yawning abyss. A shivering cold was starting to creep deep into the marrow of his bones, the lingering fear of losing control of himself slowly chasing shards of ice through the blood propelled through his veins as several unsuccessful attempts to ease his emotions merely dripped a film of anguish over dilated black pupils.
There was only one thought repeated like a mantra in his mind:
Kingsman.
Kingsman.
Kingsman.
The name meant something to Eggsy, he was sure. It was something vitally important he grasped hold of in blackened desperation. He couldn't quite recall why that was so, however. All he knew was that he needed to be there, to—.
Gazing up at the perfect white-brick storefront and crystal clear glass marked in gold, not a single scratch marred the cobblestone pavement or varnished wood despite the blown out destruction painted across the rest of Savile Row. Shadowed green eyes refused to look away from the inviting light flickering on in the interior, awkwardly shifting footsteps approaching the painted white steps as an imposing brass handled door swung open beneath the barest touch of his palm.
The soothing scent of tailor's chalk, warmed butter-soft leather, freshly poured brandy and French labdanum was swirling invitingly across his senses. Heavily tensed shoulders immediately softening into a more pliable state as warm earthen brown orbs, hidden behind tortoise-shell framed glasses, crinkled at the edges with a welcoming smile. An elegant right hand was beckoned him through Kingsman's second glass doorway, a thick, plush, carpet silencing bloodstained footsteps as an awkward shuffle guided him through the magnetic pull drawing him closer to the gentleman rising gracefully to his feet.
Galahad had just finished off the last dregs of warm amber liquid, the heavy crystal tumbler sparking misty white in dancing firelight between long, poised, fingertips as undulating shadows glowed fiery bright in the hearth's marble confines. The clink of a glass set down on dark mahogany table, drew attention back to reality as Eggsy felt the pain of the last few hours fade away beneath the palm curving a familiar weight upon his shoulder.
'Arthur,' Furrowing his brow in a bout of confusion, the twenty-six-year-old was forced to lift his chin defiantly as light fingertips tipped back the hood of his jacket and a soothing thumb came to rest upon the bleeding split in his bottom lip like a lover's caress. Chasing after the touch with the tip of his tongue and unable to conjure up the disgruntled violation he usually felt at a stranger's far too close proximity, viridian green eyes instinctively fluttered shut with the need to sleep as he struggled to make out just what the fuck was happening to him.
'Galahad,' He breathed warningly, startled by the ragged grit present in his own voice as a sly smile tugged the older man's lips upwards. The moment was stretched painfully thin between them, a gentle fingertip resting on the corner of his lips before the older man rose slightly to press a soothing kiss in the centre of his forehead.
'Harry Hart, actually.' He whispered conspiratorially against his skin. 'When I'm not seated at the table or in the field, that is.'
'Please come with me, Arthur.' Harry urged tenderly, gripping a trembling hand between his as he led the bewildered twenty-six-year-old deeper into the shop. 'Lay thine soul at mine feet,' He sung quietly. 'And let Fate decide the balance of dominion. Our circulation through time has finally been realigned, mine King.'
'And so the trials and tribulations, seeking the destruction of Albion, has risen from the ashes once more.' He continued quietly. 'If you had not awakened, Eggsy, there would have been very little left of the world to save.'
Thank you so much for reading the Prologue, Chapter 1 will be posted either before or after my other stories, Iron & Steel Chrysalis and Refractory Sunset updates sometime in the next few weeks. I apologize for the wait on them, I get somewhat side tracked like a bad author every now and again.
Please leave me a little comment if you enjoyed, I would be eternally grateful to that.
Yours Always
Chocolate Carnival