AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a multi-part sequel to Mazopolitik, which is in ff.net's PG-13 section.
* * *
It had been quite a long night for Dynast.
After leaving Xelloss in his bed to get some well-needed rest, Dynast had decided to hunt for a suitable dragon in the Rataart Mountains. After all, a true connoisseur of astral dragon cuisine knew that the Rataart dragons were best for mazoku dining. Since they were directly involved in the Kouma War, the dragons had lots of active hate and anger for the mazoku race. Such fringe emotions served to spice the taste of fear and pain when Dynast ate.
The Supreme King's dining room had a collapsable torture table in it for a reason, after all.
Such a meal was the best thing for Xelloss right now. Physical food was interesting enough, and tasted quite nice, but the sad fact of life was that dragon flesh tasted absolutely horrible. Humans might have their strange dining fads and atrocious exotic gourmet fare, but mazoku didn't fall for that nonsense. Dragons. Tasted. Bad. Anyone who said otherwise was just stupid.
Besides, as lovely as it would be to share a physical meal with Xelloss, the boy had to get some nutrition. Negative emotion was what he needed, and Dynast would give him the best there was.
Dynast fell upon a hapless Gold, musing on his choice of main course. Dragons weren't actually the pinnacle of emotional cuisine, really. Maybe he was just a little angry.
As the first dragon fell from the sky under his assault, Dynast decided that was probably correct.
Was he still jealous of Xelloss' girlfriend? The speed in which he took down the next dragon told him yes. Well, that did explain things, really. He wanted to kill these dragons because he wasn't going to allow himself to kill Xelloss' dragon. He'd promised to keep Firia alive, after all. Dynast wasn't about to break his promise. Xelloss had shown how loyal he was to Dynast, had told him to his face exactly how much he cared for the Lord. He had gone through a lot of pain for Dynast and had admitted that his love for Firia was wrong. The boy was honest enough to tell his master what he really felt. He shouldn't be held accountable when feelings that he didn't understand bled over into a relationship that Zelas never taught him was wrong.
Dynast threw a volley of ice crystals into a black dragon's wingspan, watching the reptile flail in the air and then fall to the earth. He sighed. If only it had been a gold...
That Firia. Dynast didn't understand what the emotional attraction was, but he had to admit that golds were often very pretty when they weren't stomping around as big hulking lizards. He tried to imagine touching one as gently as he touched Xelloss, only to be rewarded with flashes of scarlet blood staining his pristine sheets. Well, all the dragons in his bed had been bleeding from the very beginning. Dynast didn't understand. How did Xelloss care for one at all, much less embrace it with any tenderness?
Dynast dove farther into the Kataart mountains, searching for clarity.
Xelloss couldn't have been deluded enough to just fall for a dragon like it was nothing. She must have seduced him with more than just her body. They could be quite devillish, after all. She had been a priestess. She knew the heathen magic of dragon gods. Those damn things just had it in for mazoku. They probably taught all priestesses to snare the enemy into their silken bedsheet nets. Why kill the opposition when you could warp it into servitude? Of course. Xelloss had helped the dragon and her cohorts destroy Dark Star. Obviously he had been so tangled in the priestess' web that he would do her bidding without question. After all, why the hell would a mazoku help destroy a potential ally?
Then again, Dark Star had been a little crazy. But that was just from Vorpheed's seduction. Perhaps Xelloss had been right in killing him after all. One lesser mazoku could be turned back to the proper path and be redeemed, and their straying to the opposite side could be forgiven. But an entire Dark Lord of Lords turned by a mere giant dragon? That was more than a little suspect. Dark Star probably wouldn't have been a worthwhile ally if he was as easily led as a servant-class mazoku. That Xelloss saw this even while under a dragon temptress' spell was a testament to the priest's abilities.
Dynast sighed, strangling a gold on the ground slowly as he waited for more dragons to come to his aid. This one was in human form, and obviously weaker. Obviously it wasn't trained for fighting like the rest - probably it was just a wandering civilian. Dynast licked his lips. Maybe even a priestess. He really had to admit that he wanted Firia to die. It was a shame that he couldn't kill her. But, Dynast mused, clutching the dragon as it flailed for air, sacrifices have to be made...
Suddenly, a beam of energy lanced through the air and into Dynast's side. He smirked and tossed the twitching dragon to the ground. A rescue party. How utterly charming.
Dynast had his way with each of them, his blows not so much quick as just brutal. He kept a foot on the half-strangled dragon's back. This one he might just save for later. He had promised Xelloss that their meal wouldn't resemble Firia, and this little morsel was very unlike her in appearance. Plus, she wasn't as hardened by training and sparring as the others. He could probably yield more pain from a soft one. And if she was as docile throughout dinner as she was on the ground, it would be all for the better.
Hmm. Dynast chuckled. The rescue party seemed to be dead. He hauled the maiden up into his arms, striding forward. "Now, if you don't struggle, and you stay quiet, I might just let you live through this." The dragon only trembled, almost frozen from fear. The mazoku smirked. "Good girl." He wound a thick coil of ice around her neck. "Now, I'm making this nice and loose for your poor sore neck. See? The ice will probably even help with the swelling. Isn't that nice? I'll keep being nice to you as long as you behave. But if you try to transform into your larger form, this collar will most likely strangle you to death." He tucked a finger into the space between ice and flesh, stroking her neck. "That would be unfortunate, wouldn't it?"
The dragon nodded, tears streaming down her face.
Dynast smiled at the response. "Good girl. Can you walk?"
She shook her head.
The mazoku sighed. "Stupid dragons." The gleam of gold caught his eye. The sun was setting, casting rays of light out as it sank into the horizon. Dynast settled against the wall of a canyon and sat down on the smooth stone below. He held the dragon against his chest, stroking his fingers through the girl's wispy silver bangs. The cliffs ahead parted to give a narrow view of the sun as it winked out. Soon the pair were cloaked in the hazy blues and purples of twilight. Dynast drew the girl closer as darkness approached.
Silence settled in the canyon, curling itself around the two as twilight faded into full shadow. Dynast sat there for a long time, gathering his thoughts and sorting them.
In the darkness, in the silence, in this peace...he could almost imagine that the girl leaning against him was human, or possibly even a very low-ranked mazoku. Was that how Xelloss did it? Imagination?
The mazoku slid his hand over the girl's cheek and against the tip of the girl's ear. It ended with a point, but it was small, subtle. Nothing as long as Firia's ears...
Dynast slid the girl to the ground, laying on top of her. Perhaps the trick, he thought, clamping his lips over hers, is to pretend that elves aren't nearly as rare as we believe...
* * *
Xelloss has crawled out of bed already. He has scratched his sigil into the floor and activated it, leaving Bishop behind. He has dragged himself into Firia's arms and fallen asleep, a little warmer than he was before and a lot safer.
Edge knows nothing of this. He is only digging himself deeper into Xelloss' back, holding down his astral form and whispering into his mind.
Master Dynast deserves you, Xelloss. Why don't you give into him? I can feel your resistance. I can feel other things...
* * *
"See?" Dynast ran his hands down the girl's body, palms still warm from spellwork. "I can make this feel good..."
* * *
Oh, nonsense. Stop struggling. You know you've done this before.
* * *
"Ahh. There we are. See, isn't it easier when you give in? Almost like a dream..." Dynast guided the girl's hands as they undressed him.
* * *
Oh, you poor dear. You really don't know what's happening to you, but that's okay...
* * *
"...I can make it right." Dynast grinned as the girl moaned against him. "See?"
* * *
That's good. There we are. I knew you could see reason, you twit.
* * *
Dynast cupped the girl's breasts in his hands. "I don't expect you to understand this."
* * *
I don't even expect you to remember this.
* * *
"But right now, you're mine. And that's all that matters."
* * *
Firia has wrapped Xelloss up now, burying him in blankets and curling up against what she thinks is her son. Xelloss doesn't know what's going on in one plane or the other. He just knows that he's tired, and he's far away from Dynast. Edge only knows that he can do anything he wants until Dynast makes him give up his catch. He doesn't know that his incarnar body is far away from Dynast's home. He doesn't know that he'll never see Dynast again.
Tired, are we? Very well. I suppose you can rest. You're mine for now anyways...
* * *
Dynast buried a kiss in the sleeping dragon's hair. "At least it was interesting, pretending that you were something better than you are. But I still feel dirty." He sat up, dressing himself as the moon rose. "Perhaps Xelloss would disagree. Then again, while I think all dragons are the same, his viewpoint always seems to differ with mine. Either way, dinner is dinner." He snapped his fingers, sending the girl to a special room in his home that he fondly thought of as "the pantry". He then picked up his jacket and dusted it off. He had lain her on it in a flash of chivalry after she started to reciprocate. Dynast smirked. He'd never known that those spells worked on dragons. The results had almost been worth the overwhelming urge to bathe that now pervaded his senses.
Maybe he and Xelloss could share her in...other ways...after they ate. He wouldn't mind cleaning his priest off.
But that was the future. The present held within it a charging party of dragons who had found the cause of their missing and dead. Dynast braced himself, grinning. Did any of the lizards he'd hunted today even know what they were fighting? Probably not. He gathered destructive energy into his palm.
Dragons were so loveably stupid.
* * *
It is well into the morning at a certain combination pottery shop and house. Firia is discovering that an unexpected guest is sleeping in her bed.
It is well into the night where Lord Dynast lives. The Supreme King returns to his home, anticipating breakfast [and other meals] in his bed.
* * *
Worry was not the first thing that came to Dynast's mind when he saw the empty bed. His mind never wanted to resort to the more realistic, pessimistic solutions. His first assumptions were that Xelloss had felt better, gotten up, and perhaps desired some wine. He didn't consider the fact that Xelloss had been in such poor condition for too long to recover this quickly. After all, everything was going so well. Xelloss was surely feeling better now that Dynast was accepting him into his service. Sickness, often enough, was a partially mental affliction. Being astral creatures, Mazoku were even more susceptible to hypochondria. With a better state of mind, Xelloss probably had a better state of health already.
Dynast tsked at the rumpled covers and straightened them up. Xelloss was such a messy servant sometimes. That laid-back nature brought with it laziness and neglect for proper manners.
Ah well. Training a servant was always half the fun.
Xelloss had been through his King's home on many occasions. He'd know where the wine cellar was. Dynast ambled down towards the cavernous cellar, smiling. Wine would go well with their meal, and it would be pleasant to see Xelloss on his feet again.
Dynast walked between row after row of bottle racks. He wasn't in this one? Perhaps he preferred a sweeter vintage. Maybe the priest was itching for something older. After all, considering his long-denied lust for Dynast, it was obvious the boy enjoyed the more experienced things in life.
After a long search, Dynast realized that Xelloss wasn't in the wine cellar. He even checked for him mentally, with no success. The boy just wasn't here.
Perhaps he had gone to the kitchen?
Dynast's steps were a little quicker now as his impatience grew. He surveyed the kitchen. Not a soul in sight.
...The King HAD left his servant alone for quite a while. Maybe Xelloss was seeking diversions in the library.
Dynast ran to the library this time, getting restless and ansty as his search again came up with nothing. He vanished, darting from room to room, looking about anxiously for his lover. He teleported to the game room. The chessboard waited on the table, untouched for days and lonely from it.
Was he missing a bishop?
...What if Xelloss was missing?
Dynast was frantic now, rushing into rooms, looking behind furniture, running through doors and checking over his shoulder each time. Where was his precious bishop? What if he had tried to move about and fell ill again? What if an intruder had come and found Xelloss alone and helpless? Would Dynast be able to find his servant through astral scans with Edge's interference scrambling the search? Would he be able to find him in this huge home at all?
The search continued for hours. After Dynast came up with nothing, he searched again. When that came up fruitless, Dynast looked through his entire home yet again. Half a day later, he scrambled back into his bedroom.
Where was Xelloss? He was nowhere! Was he hurt? Was he alive? What would Dynast do if he couldn't find him? He couldn't just abandon his love! Dynast paced, thoughts racing through his mind as he crossed the room over and over with wide, quick strides.
His shoe rolled over something small and hard.
Dynast flipped the object between his fingers quickly, his mind lunging for any clue to Xelloss' whereabouts. His fingers paused and his thoughts jerked to a halt as he realized what he was holding.
"The bishop..."
Dynast stood perfectly still, his eyes fixated on the quartz chesspiece. For several minutes, the chesspiece was the only thing that existed for him. Then, suddenly, he snarled and threw it down.
As the carved figure tumbled towards the floor, it began to flow like water, growing and swirling. It resolved itself into the shape of a human boy right before it collided with the marble tiles below. The boy collapsed in a heap of flowing robes. He looked like he was thirteen, and he was small enough that the robes appeared to swallow him. He had fluffy white hair, cropped short in a bowl-shape around his head. His face was round, two milky white irises looking up from it in terror. Before he could speak, Dynast was on top of the boy, grabbing him by the collar of his robe and yanking him up.
The boy squeaked in fear, unable to shrink away from the King. Dynast shook him, then wrapped his fingers around the boy's neck and restrained himself from squeezing hard enough to break it.
"WHERE IS HE!?" Dynast's roar was so terrifying that the boy almost fainted.
"I-I-I-I....I'm s-s-sorry, I'm SO sorr-" the boy's stuttered words were cut off as he was flung to the floor. Dynast stood over him, every muscle in his body strained. His face was a perfect study in fury.
"TALK!"
The boy sniffled, shaking. "I'm s-sorry, Lord D-Dynast! I helped him! I couldn't do anything else!" He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to calm their trembling. "He confided in me. He talked with me for weeks. I couldn't...I couldn't just not listen-I mean, how could I-I-I...I'm sorry!" He cringed, wiping a tear away with a huge bell sleeve.
Dynast's breathing was fast and harsh, but his words were as smooth as the marble beneath them. He could almost fool an onlooker into believing he was calm now. "Go on."
"I carved things for him. I put a dreadful hole in the battlefield." The boy's face darkened with shame. "I did whatever he commanded. Mostly I listened to his grievances. He wanted someone to talk to."
"He had someone to talk to, you snit." Dynast's hand quivered in a fist at his side.
"I'm sorry, Lord Dynast. He just kept talking. He wanted to leave so badly." The boy's eyes stared up at Dynast, pleading for forgiveness.
The breath caught in Dynast's throat. "No he didn't. He didn't want to leave."
The boy nodded, his voice calm with the knowledge that he was right. "Master Xelloss said that he hated it here. The white rooms frightened him and he was terribly lonely. He had no one to talk to, no one to tell him that it would be alright. He was afraid he'd never leave. He was desperate-"
"HE WAS NOT!!" The wrath poured out through Dynast's voice in place of any physical harm he wished on the boy. The syllables came out as a shriek, a tonal strike at everything in the world that clashed with Dynast's own personal account of reality. It flowed like a maddened river, rough and harsh and powerful. When his words ended, the feelings rushed forth and thundered through his brain, toppling long-erected walls of denial.
"He..." The boy's voice was small, thin, and hesitant. "Master Xelloss kept me close by to support him when he was alone, to carve for him when he despaired. He had me carve a sigil in the floor behind you. It took him away from here and then destroyed itself to leave no trace of his existence. He dropped me before he left. That's why I'm still here...Sir?" The boy looked up at his master. "Lord Dynast? Is...something wrong?"
"Shut up." The words, tired and heavy, dragged themselves up from Dynast's chest and through his mouth. He squeezed his eyes closed. "Just...just shut..." He breathed, once, twice, three times. Dynast grabbed his head as if it would split open, fingers curling through blue and black hair. The pain from the pulling made something snap inside the mazoku that up until then had been stretched taut. His eyes flew open. "Shut up! Just shut up!" He kicked at the boy, going at it harder when the boy squealed in pain. "Shut up! Shut up!" He screamed at the world as his hands dug into his servant's robes and found arms and legs to hold down. "Shut up shut up shut up!" He beat the boy through a haze of tears and a flurry of limbs. The world crashed down around Dynast's ears. "JUST SHUT UP!"
* * *
Dynast slumped over in a chair, his hands supporting his head, his elbows on his knees. The levee had broken. After the floodwater had roared through his soul, all that remained was a flat, crumbled waste. All that was left for him was grief. He sat there, a sighing lump of desolation, not moving for an hour.
The boy lay on the floor across the room, his eyes never leaving Dynast. He hadn't moved since the Lord had finally left him. He really didn't think that he could.
Eventually, Dynast had to stop crying. When it finally came to that point, he sighed one last time. He looked up, his head rising slowly. "You called him Master Xelloss." When no answer came from his servant, he flicked his hand. A wave of energy coursed through the boy and healed his injuries.
The boy curled up, feeling healthy but somehow sick. Perhaps it was because the room seemed so big all of a sudden, as if it were going to fall in around his head and crush him into dust. His voice was muffled but clear enough to be heard. "When I fell in combat, his soldier took me prisoner. As his property, I was his servant and yours."
Dynast nodded. He knew what the priest meant. He was used to the way that objects phrased things. Xelloss had taken that bishop around the time of the Kouma War. It was his until Dynast won it back by advancing a pawn. But since the white pieces were the Supreme King's property, he technically owned the bishop as well. So the piece's logic was certainly correct. "You serve both of us, but you serve me first."
"Of course, sir." The boy's muffled voice rang with agreement.
Dynast growled. "You betrayed me by helping him escape. But Xelloss has proven himself to be very convincing, so I will not hold you to it. I need your service now. Clean this place up. I'll fetch my shameless liar of a slave. Is he at his bitch's little hut?"
"Y-yes sir." The boy slowly uncurled himself, ducking away from things that weren't there. He felt too weak to stand for some reason. He pulled himself to his knees as Dynast walked up to him.
"Get a bottle of wine and the crystal flutes first. I want those ready when I return. And I want you ready to assist me with Xelloss. Is that clear...you..." Dynast searched for a name.
"Master Xelloss preferred to call me Bishop, sir."
Dynast wet his lips around the shape of it, trying the name on his tongue. "That will do." He pulled Bishop to his feet, holding him as he swayed. "Get to work."
"Yes, Lord Dynast." Bishop set out quickly for the wine cellar as Dynast vanished.
* * *
Bishop had made fast work of the room, cleaning it within minutes. The wine sat on a table near the bed. Next to them were the crystal flutes, the ones with sapphire dust melted into the glass. Bishop seemed to recall that those were Dynast's favorites. He sat at the table attentively, ready to rise whenever his master returned. He was looking forward to Dynast's arrival. Bishop missed Xelloss already. The priest was the most wonderful conversationalist that the boy had ever met.
A flash of movement right where Dynast had teleported from caught Bishop's eye. Suddenly, Dynast and his guest appeared. Bishop rose to greet his master, but before he could bow, he saw their guest sway and fall into Dynast's arms.
Dynast's mouth curled into a smile that could chill magma. He delicately held his guest's chin and pulled the man's gaze up to meet his own. "You poor, poor thing. Are you sick? I thought that astral travel would set well with ether vermin."
Lafitte struggled to bring an answer forth, but it was enough trouble at this point to focus on simple things like seeing, or breathing. Surinnar travel had hurt him more than Dynast's brutality did. Now that he was existing in an incarnar aspect, the world of surinnar was as unattainable as the physical world had been when he had lived on the astral plane. When Dynast pulled Lafitte through the ether he might as well have been dragging a dandelion seed through a gravity well.
Dynast tsked. "Such lack of resilience. I can see that you'll be high maintenance." He looked over at Bishop, noting that the servant had fulfilled his tasks perfectly. "Bishop," a note of command rang in the Lord's voice, "show our guest to his seat. As a very good friend of Xelloss, he deserves our hospitality." Dynast's voice gained a suggestive slur to it when he noted Lafitte's affiliation with Xelloss.
Bishop dashed over to Lafitte with a speed that defied physics. He leaned the surinni against him, then darted back to the table in a blur. Carefully he lowered Lafitte into the chair he had just occupied a moment ago. He performed his tasks with a stability and strength that clashed with his small size and weak appearance. Bishop stood to attention, turning to Dynast for further orders.
The icy King walked to the table with a slow amble, his eyes fixated on Lafitte. Bishop pulled his chair out for him, then stepped back as Dynast sat down with catlike grace. The mazoku leaned forward, grinning at Lafitte, taking pleasure with every shift in the surinni's expression. "Bishop, would you pour the wine?" He raised an eyebrow at Lafitte. "Or are you up for wine? You look too pale to even lift the glass."
Lafitte tried to speak, but his words sank into a sea of dizziness. He felt himself slump. Damnit! He could use a drink now, actually, but Dynast wouldn't have the surinni brew he needed for recuperation.
Dynast sighed. "Bishop, see if you can make our guest feel a little more comfortable."
The servant moved to Lafitte's side. As he placed his hands on Lafitte's chest, the surinni felt warmth rush into him. With the warmth came pure energy. It surged through his body, pushing into every part of him with a forwardness that made Lafitte feel almost uncomfortable. To his relief, the rush of pressure halted. With the absence of the energy came a strength and vitality that he had not yet experienced on this plane. It was almost like being surinnar again. Lafitte actually felt almost normal.
Bishop made a short bow to him and then darted back to Dynast's side. The Lord smiled at him with an overpowering smugness. "You've regained your color. Did your tongue accompany it?"
Lafitte narrowed his eyes. "Yes."
"Good. Have some wine. If you shun my hospitality any further, I might get the notion that you're being rude." Dynast sipped from his flute, his eyes still on Lafitte.
The surinni took his glass, examining the contents. He'd never had wine on this plane before and wondered if its effects matched those of surinnar vintages. He took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste and disliking the strange warmth that flooded into him as he swallowed. Surinnar wines had any number of effects, from drastic emotional shifts to changes in physical appearance. One vintage even gave the drinker butterfly wings for a few hours. What was so special about this stuff?
Dynast looked at him pointedly. "Well?"
Lafitte cleared his throat, trying to dispell the warmth in it. "It doesn't really impress me, compared with my previous experiences."
The King growled, his face twisting with anger. "What the hell would a surinni know about wine?"
Lafitte took another sip, drinking simply to raise his host's ire. "What the hell would an incarnt know about surinni?"
Dynast paused for a moment, his face frozen in an indescribable transitory expression. He seemed to be deciding something. Then the mask broke as he laughed. "Touche." He cocked his head. "I beg your pardon, oh honorable guest. I never requested your name. How rude of me."
The surinni shrugged. "Lafitte."
Dynast smiled with false politeness. "Is that all there is to it?"
"Why the hell would there be anything else? Surinni don't need surnames or useless titles. We are what we are, regardless of what we're being called." Lafitte punctuated his statement with a swallow of wine, and wondered why the strange warmth was becoming pleasant.
"Ahh. I see. Forgettable names for an insignificant race. It certainly fits." Dynast slid his finger over the rim of his glass. "It's a shame that you say the vintage is just as unimpressive. I know Xelloss enjoyed the wine here." Dynast scrutinized Lafitte's face as he spoke. His eyes were alert, contrasting his relaxed words.
Lafitte snorted. "Must have been the only thing he enjoyed."
Dynast smiled. "Perhaps. But I'm not interested in the past. I'm interested in the present, and Xelloss' whereabouts in it."
"Ya don't say." Lafitte smirked, draining his glass. Bishop immediately darted forward to refill it.
"I do say." Dynast's fingers stroked the neck of his glass. "Would you be willing to aid me?"
Lafitte snickered, the sound turning into laughter as he found Dynast's words inexplicably more humorous with each second. "Hell no. Why would I do that?"
The King smiled. "Because I can be very convincing. Bishop, please attend to the library. I'll request your presence when it's wanted." The boy darted away. Dynast walked to Lafitte's side, chuckling as the surinni frowned in confusion. "You asked me what an incarnt would possibly know about a member of your esteemed race. I have a question for you in reply: Did you know that surinni have the lowest tolerance for alcohol of any known creature in existence?"
Lafitte tried to reply, but Dynast's mouth sealed his lips shut. When he attempted to struggle away, he discovered that his limbs were lax and barely responded to his mental commands. He began to panic as Dynast lifted him into his arms.
"You are Xelloss' servant, and in that role you fulfill the duties that he cannot." Dynast walked to the bed, licking his lips. "There were some acts he promised to do for me that you will have no trouble performing. You owe me for the wine, anyways." He laid Lafitte on the bed, crouching over him. "Perhaps after that, we'll see about Xelloss' location. I don't mind a hostile witness. Like many other acts, interrogation is its own reward."
Lafitte wanted to retort, but no insults could come to mind after Dynast began to remove his clothing.
* * *
It had been quite a long night for Dynast.
After leaving Xelloss in his bed to get some well-needed rest, Dynast had decided to hunt for a suitable dragon in the Rataart Mountains. After all, a true connoisseur of astral dragon cuisine knew that the Rataart dragons were best for mazoku dining. Since they were directly involved in the Kouma War, the dragons had lots of active hate and anger for the mazoku race. Such fringe emotions served to spice the taste of fear and pain when Dynast ate.
The Supreme King's dining room had a collapsable torture table in it for a reason, after all.
Such a meal was the best thing for Xelloss right now. Physical food was interesting enough, and tasted quite nice, but the sad fact of life was that dragon flesh tasted absolutely horrible. Humans might have their strange dining fads and atrocious exotic gourmet fare, but mazoku didn't fall for that nonsense. Dragons. Tasted. Bad. Anyone who said otherwise was just stupid.
Besides, as lovely as it would be to share a physical meal with Xelloss, the boy had to get some nutrition. Negative emotion was what he needed, and Dynast would give him the best there was.
Dynast fell upon a hapless Gold, musing on his choice of main course. Dragons weren't actually the pinnacle of emotional cuisine, really. Maybe he was just a little angry.
As the first dragon fell from the sky under his assault, Dynast decided that was probably correct.
Was he still jealous of Xelloss' girlfriend? The speed in which he took down the next dragon told him yes. Well, that did explain things, really. He wanted to kill these dragons because he wasn't going to allow himself to kill Xelloss' dragon. He'd promised to keep Firia alive, after all. Dynast wasn't about to break his promise. Xelloss had shown how loyal he was to Dynast, had told him to his face exactly how much he cared for the Lord. He had gone through a lot of pain for Dynast and had admitted that his love for Firia was wrong. The boy was honest enough to tell his master what he really felt. He shouldn't be held accountable when feelings that he didn't understand bled over into a relationship that Zelas never taught him was wrong.
Dynast threw a volley of ice crystals into a black dragon's wingspan, watching the reptile flail in the air and then fall to the earth. He sighed. If only it had been a gold...
That Firia. Dynast didn't understand what the emotional attraction was, but he had to admit that golds were often very pretty when they weren't stomping around as big hulking lizards. He tried to imagine touching one as gently as he touched Xelloss, only to be rewarded with flashes of scarlet blood staining his pristine sheets. Well, all the dragons in his bed had been bleeding from the very beginning. Dynast didn't understand. How did Xelloss care for one at all, much less embrace it with any tenderness?
Dynast dove farther into the Kataart mountains, searching for clarity.
Xelloss couldn't have been deluded enough to just fall for a dragon like it was nothing. She must have seduced him with more than just her body. They could be quite devillish, after all. She had been a priestess. She knew the heathen magic of dragon gods. Those damn things just had it in for mazoku. They probably taught all priestesses to snare the enemy into their silken bedsheet nets. Why kill the opposition when you could warp it into servitude? Of course. Xelloss had helped the dragon and her cohorts destroy Dark Star. Obviously he had been so tangled in the priestess' web that he would do her bidding without question. After all, why the hell would a mazoku help destroy a potential ally?
Then again, Dark Star had been a little crazy. But that was just from Vorpheed's seduction. Perhaps Xelloss had been right in killing him after all. One lesser mazoku could be turned back to the proper path and be redeemed, and their straying to the opposite side could be forgiven. But an entire Dark Lord of Lords turned by a mere giant dragon? That was more than a little suspect. Dark Star probably wouldn't have been a worthwhile ally if he was as easily led as a servant-class mazoku. That Xelloss saw this even while under a dragon temptress' spell was a testament to the priest's abilities.
Dynast sighed, strangling a gold on the ground slowly as he waited for more dragons to come to his aid. This one was in human form, and obviously weaker. Obviously it wasn't trained for fighting like the rest - probably it was just a wandering civilian. Dynast licked his lips. Maybe even a priestess. He really had to admit that he wanted Firia to die. It was a shame that he couldn't kill her. But, Dynast mused, clutching the dragon as it flailed for air, sacrifices have to be made...
Suddenly, a beam of energy lanced through the air and into Dynast's side. He smirked and tossed the twitching dragon to the ground. A rescue party. How utterly charming.
Dynast had his way with each of them, his blows not so much quick as just brutal. He kept a foot on the half-strangled dragon's back. This one he might just save for later. He had promised Xelloss that their meal wouldn't resemble Firia, and this little morsel was very unlike her in appearance. Plus, she wasn't as hardened by training and sparring as the others. He could probably yield more pain from a soft one. And if she was as docile throughout dinner as she was on the ground, it would be all for the better.
Hmm. Dynast chuckled. The rescue party seemed to be dead. He hauled the maiden up into his arms, striding forward. "Now, if you don't struggle, and you stay quiet, I might just let you live through this." The dragon only trembled, almost frozen from fear. The mazoku smirked. "Good girl." He wound a thick coil of ice around her neck. "Now, I'm making this nice and loose for your poor sore neck. See? The ice will probably even help with the swelling. Isn't that nice? I'll keep being nice to you as long as you behave. But if you try to transform into your larger form, this collar will most likely strangle you to death." He tucked a finger into the space between ice and flesh, stroking her neck. "That would be unfortunate, wouldn't it?"
The dragon nodded, tears streaming down her face.
Dynast smiled at the response. "Good girl. Can you walk?"
She shook her head.
The mazoku sighed. "Stupid dragons." The gleam of gold caught his eye. The sun was setting, casting rays of light out as it sank into the horizon. Dynast settled against the wall of a canyon and sat down on the smooth stone below. He held the dragon against his chest, stroking his fingers through the girl's wispy silver bangs. The cliffs ahead parted to give a narrow view of the sun as it winked out. Soon the pair were cloaked in the hazy blues and purples of twilight. Dynast drew the girl closer as darkness approached.
Silence settled in the canyon, curling itself around the two as twilight faded into full shadow. Dynast sat there for a long time, gathering his thoughts and sorting them.
In the darkness, in the silence, in this peace...he could almost imagine that the girl leaning against him was human, or possibly even a very low-ranked mazoku. Was that how Xelloss did it? Imagination?
The mazoku slid his hand over the girl's cheek and against the tip of the girl's ear. It ended with a point, but it was small, subtle. Nothing as long as Firia's ears...
Dynast slid the girl to the ground, laying on top of her. Perhaps the trick, he thought, clamping his lips over hers, is to pretend that elves aren't nearly as rare as we believe...
* * *
Xelloss has crawled out of bed already. He has scratched his sigil into the floor and activated it, leaving Bishop behind. He has dragged himself into Firia's arms and fallen asleep, a little warmer than he was before and a lot safer.
Edge knows nothing of this. He is only digging himself deeper into Xelloss' back, holding down his astral form and whispering into his mind.
Master Dynast deserves you, Xelloss. Why don't you give into him? I can feel your resistance. I can feel other things...
* * *
"See?" Dynast ran his hands down the girl's body, palms still warm from spellwork. "I can make this feel good..."
* * *
Oh, nonsense. Stop struggling. You know you've done this before.
* * *
"Ahh. There we are. See, isn't it easier when you give in? Almost like a dream..." Dynast guided the girl's hands as they undressed him.
* * *
Oh, you poor dear. You really don't know what's happening to you, but that's okay...
* * *
"...I can make it right." Dynast grinned as the girl moaned against him. "See?"
* * *
That's good. There we are. I knew you could see reason, you twit.
* * *
Dynast cupped the girl's breasts in his hands. "I don't expect you to understand this."
* * *
I don't even expect you to remember this.
* * *
"But right now, you're mine. And that's all that matters."
* * *
Firia has wrapped Xelloss up now, burying him in blankets and curling up against what she thinks is her son. Xelloss doesn't know what's going on in one plane or the other. He just knows that he's tired, and he's far away from Dynast. Edge only knows that he can do anything he wants until Dynast makes him give up his catch. He doesn't know that his incarnar body is far away from Dynast's home. He doesn't know that he'll never see Dynast again.
Tired, are we? Very well. I suppose you can rest. You're mine for now anyways...
* * *
Dynast buried a kiss in the sleeping dragon's hair. "At least it was interesting, pretending that you were something better than you are. But I still feel dirty." He sat up, dressing himself as the moon rose. "Perhaps Xelloss would disagree. Then again, while I think all dragons are the same, his viewpoint always seems to differ with mine. Either way, dinner is dinner." He snapped his fingers, sending the girl to a special room in his home that he fondly thought of as "the pantry". He then picked up his jacket and dusted it off. He had lain her on it in a flash of chivalry after she started to reciprocate. Dynast smirked. He'd never known that those spells worked on dragons. The results had almost been worth the overwhelming urge to bathe that now pervaded his senses.
Maybe he and Xelloss could share her in...other ways...after they ate. He wouldn't mind cleaning his priest off.
But that was the future. The present held within it a charging party of dragons who had found the cause of their missing and dead. Dynast braced himself, grinning. Did any of the lizards he'd hunted today even know what they were fighting? Probably not. He gathered destructive energy into his palm.
Dragons were so loveably stupid.
* * *
It is well into the morning at a certain combination pottery shop and house. Firia is discovering that an unexpected guest is sleeping in her bed.
It is well into the night where Lord Dynast lives. The Supreme King returns to his home, anticipating breakfast [and other meals] in his bed.
* * *
Worry was not the first thing that came to Dynast's mind when he saw the empty bed. His mind never wanted to resort to the more realistic, pessimistic solutions. His first assumptions were that Xelloss had felt better, gotten up, and perhaps desired some wine. He didn't consider the fact that Xelloss had been in such poor condition for too long to recover this quickly. After all, everything was going so well. Xelloss was surely feeling better now that Dynast was accepting him into his service. Sickness, often enough, was a partially mental affliction. Being astral creatures, Mazoku were even more susceptible to hypochondria. With a better state of mind, Xelloss probably had a better state of health already.
Dynast tsked at the rumpled covers and straightened them up. Xelloss was such a messy servant sometimes. That laid-back nature brought with it laziness and neglect for proper manners.
Ah well. Training a servant was always half the fun.
Xelloss had been through his King's home on many occasions. He'd know where the wine cellar was. Dynast ambled down towards the cavernous cellar, smiling. Wine would go well with their meal, and it would be pleasant to see Xelloss on his feet again.
Dynast walked between row after row of bottle racks. He wasn't in this one? Perhaps he preferred a sweeter vintage. Maybe the priest was itching for something older. After all, considering his long-denied lust for Dynast, it was obvious the boy enjoyed the more experienced things in life.
After a long search, Dynast realized that Xelloss wasn't in the wine cellar. He even checked for him mentally, with no success. The boy just wasn't here.
Perhaps he had gone to the kitchen?
Dynast's steps were a little quicker now as his impatience grew. He surveyed the kitchen. Not a soul in sight.
...The King HAD left his servant alone for quite a while. Maybe Xelloss was seeking diversions in the library.
Dynast ran to the library this time, getting restless and ansty as his search again came up with nothing. He vanished, darting from room to room, looking about anxiously for his lover. He teleported to the game room. The chessboard waited on the table, untouched for days and lonely from it.
Was he missing a bishop?
...What if Xelloss was missing?
Dynast was frantic now, rushing into rooms, looking behind furniture, running through doors and checking over his shoulder each time. Where was his precious bishop? What if he had tried to move about and fell ill again? What if an intruder had come and found Xelloss alone and helpless? Would Dynast be able to find his servant through astral scans with Edge's interference scrambling the search? Would he be able to find him in this huge home at all?
The search continued for hours. After Dynast came up with nothing, he searched again. When that came up fruitless, Dynast looked through his entire home yet again. Half a day later, he scrambled back into his bedroom.
Where was Xelloss? He was nowhere! Was he hurt? Was he alive? What would Dynast do if he couldn't find him? He couldn't just abandon his love! Dynast paced, thoughts racing through his mind as he crossed the room over and over with wide, quick strides.
His shoe rolled over something small and hard.
Dynast flipped the object between his fingers quickly, his mind lunging for any clue to Xelloss' whereabouts. His fingers paused and his thoughts jerked to a halt as he realized what he was holding.
"The bishop..."
Dynast stood perfectly still, his eyes fixated on the quartz chesspiece. For several minutes, the chesspiece was the only thing that existed for him. Then, suddenly, he snarled and threw it down.
As the carved figure tumbled towards the floor, it began to flow like water, growing and swirling. It resolved itself into the shape of a human boy right before it collided with the marble tiles below. The boy collapsed in a heap of flowing robes. He looked like he was thirteen, and he was small enough that the robes appeared to swallow him. He had fluffy white hair, cropped short in a bowl-shape around his head. His face was round, two milky white irises looking up from it in terror. Before he could speak, Dynast was on top of the boy, grabbing him by the collar of his robe and yanking him up.
The boy squeaked in fear, unable to shrink away from the King. Dynast shook him, then wrapped his fingers around the boy's neck and restrained himself from squeezing hard enough to break it.
"WHERE IS HE!?" Dynast's roar was so terrifying that the boy almost fainted.
"I-I-I-I....I'm s-s-sorry, I'm SO sorr-" the boy's stuttered words were cut off as he was flung to the floor. Dynast stood over him, every muscle in his body strained. His face was a perfect study in fury.
"TALK!"
The boy sniffled, shaking. "I'm s-sorry, Lord D-Dynast! I helped him! I couldn't do anything else!" He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to calm their trembling. "He confided in me. He talked with me for weeks. I couldn't...I couldn't just not listen-I mean, how could I-I-I...I'm sorry!" He cringed, wiping a tear away with a huge bell sleeve.
Dynast's breathing was fast and harsh, but his words were as smooth as the marble beneath them. He could almost fool an onlooker into believing he was calm now. "Go on."
"I carved things for him. I put a dreadful hole in the battlefield." The boy's face darkened with shame. "I did whatever he commanded. Mostly I listened to his grievances. He wanted someone to talk to."
"He had someone to talk to, you snit." Dynast's hand quivered in a fist at his side.
"I'm sorry, Lord Dynast. He just kept talking. He wanted to leave so badly." The boy's eyes stared up at Dynast, pleading for forgiveness.
The breath caught in Dynast's throat. "No he didn't. He didn't want to leave."
The boy nodded, his voice calm with the knowledge that he was right. "Master Xelloss said that he hated it here. The white rooms frightened him and he was terribly lonely. He had no one to talk to, no one to tell him that it would be alright. He was afraid he'd never leave. He was desperate-"
"HE WAS NOT!!" The wrath poured out through Dynast's voice in place of any physical harm he wished on the boy. The syllables came out as a shriek, a tonal strike at everything in the world that clashed with Dynast's own personal account of reality. It flowed like a maddened river, rough and harsh and powerful. When his words ended, the feelings rushed forth and thundered through his brain, toppling long-erected walls of denial.
"He..." The boy's voice was small, thin, and hesitant. "Master Xelloss kept me close by to support him when he was alone, to carve for him when he despaired. He had me carve a sigil in the floor behind you. It took him away from here and then destroyed itself to leave no trace of his existence. He dropped me before he left. That's why I'm still here...Sir?" The boy looked up at his master. "Lord Dynast? Is...something wrong?"
"Shut up." The words, tired and heavy, dragged themselves up from Dynast's chest and through his mouth. He squeezed his eyes closed. "Just...just shut..." He breathed, once, twice, three times. Dynast grabbed his head as if it would split open, fingers curling through blue and black hair. The pain from the pulling made something snap inside the mazoku that up until then had been stretched taut. His eyes flew open. "Shut up! Just shut up!" He kicked at the boy, going at it harder when the boy squealed in pain. "Shut up! Shut up!" He screamed at the world as his hands dug into his servant's robes and found arms and legs to hold down. "Shut up shut up shut up!" He beat the boy through a haze of tears and a flurry of limbs. The world crashed down around Dynast's ears. "JUST SHUT UP!"
* * *
Dynast slumped over in a chair, his hands supporting his head, his elbows on his knees. The levee had broken. After the floodwater had roared through his soul, all that remained was a flat, crumbled waste. All that was left for him was grief. He sat there, a sighing lump of desolation, not moving for an hour.
The boy lay on the floor across the room, his eyes never leaving Dynast. He hadn't moved since the Lord had finally left him. He really didn't think that he could.
Eventually, Dynast had to stop crying. When it finally came to that point, he sighed one last time. He looked up, his head rising slowly. "You called him Master Xelloss." When no answer came from his servant, he flicked his hand. A wave of energy coursed through the boy and healed his injuries.
The boy curled up, feeling healthy but somehow sick. Perhaps it was because the room seemed so big all of a sudden, as if it were going to fall in around his head and crush him into dust. His voice was muffled but clear enough to be heard. "When I fell in combat, his soldier took me prisoner. As his property, I was his servant and yours."
Dynast nodded. He knew what the priest meant. He was used to the way that objects phrased things. Xelloss had taken that bishop around the time of the Kouma War. It was his until Dynast won it back by advancing a pawn. But since the white pieces were the Supreme King's property, he technically owned the bishop as well. So the piece's logic was certainly correct. "You serve both of us, but you serve me first."
"Of course, sir." The boy's muffled voice rang with agreement.
Dynast growled. "You betrayed me by helping him escape. But Xelloss has proven himself to be very convincing, so I will not hold you to it. I need your service now. Clean this place up. I'll fetch my shameless liar of a slave. Is he at his bitch's little hut?"
"Y-yes sir." The boy slowly uncurled himself, ducking away from things that weren't there. He felt too weak to stand for some reason. He pulled himself to his knees as Dynast walked up to him.
"Get a bottle of wine and the crystal flutes first. I want those ready when I return. And I want you ready to assist me with Xelloss. Is that clear...you..." Dynast searched for a name.
"Master Xelloss preferred to call me Bishop, sir."
Dynast wet his lips around the shape of it, trying the name on his tongue. "That will do." He pulled Bishop to his feet, holding him as he swayed. "Get to work."
"Yes, Lord Dynast." Bishop set out quickly for the wine cellar as Dynast vanished.
* * *
Bishop had made fast work of the room, cleaning it within minutes. The wine sat on a table near the bed. Next to them were the crystal flutes, the ones with sapphire dust melted into the glass. Bishop seemed to recall that those were Dynast's favorites. He sat at the table attentively, ready to rise whenever his master returned. He was looking forward to Dynast's arrival. Bishop missed Xelloss already. The priest was the most wonderful conversationalist that the boy had ever met.
A flash of movement right where Dynast had teleported from caught Bishop's eye. Suddenly, Dynast and his guest appeared. Bishop rose to greet his master, but before he could bow, he saw their guest sway and fall into Dynast's arms.
Dynast's mouth curled into a smile that could chill magma. He delicately held his guest's chin and pulled the man's gaze up to meet his own. "You poor, poor thing. Are you sick? I thought that astral travel would set well with ether vermin."
Lafitte struggled to bring an answer forth, but it was enough trouble at this point to focus on simple things like seeing, or breathing. Surinnar travel had hurt him more than Dynast's brutality did. Now that he was existing in an incarnar aspect, the world of surinnar was as unattainable as the physical world had been when he had lived on the astral plane. When Dynast pulled Lafitte through the ether he might as well have been dragging a dandelion seed through a gravity well.
Dynast tsked. "Such lack of resilience. I can see that you'll be high maintenance." He looked over at Bishop, noting that the servant had fulfilled his tasks perfectly. "Bishop," a note of command rang in the Lord's voice, "show our guest to his seat. As a very good friend of Xelloss, he deserves our hospitality." Dynast's voice gained a suggestive slur to it when he noted Lafitte's affiliation with Xelloss.
Bishop dashed over to Lafitte with a speed that defied physics. He leaned the surinni against him, then darted back to the table in a blur. Carefully he lowered Lafitte into the chair he had just occupied a moment ago. He performed his tasks with a stability and strength that clashed with his small size and weak appearance. Bishop stood to attention, turning to Dynast for further orders.
The icy King walked to the table with a slow amble, his eyes fixated on Lafitte. Bishop pulled his chair out for him, then stepped back as Dynast sat down with catlike grace. The mazoku leaned forward, grinning at Lafitte, taking pleasure with every shift in the surinni's expression. "Bishop, would you pour the wine?" He raised an eyebrow at Lafitte. "Or are you up for wine? You look too pale to even lift the glass."
Lafitte tried to speak, but his words sank into a sea of dizziness. He felt himself slump. Damnit! He could use a drink now, actually, but Dynast wouldn't have the surinni brew he needed for recuperation.
Dynast sighed. "Bishop, see if you can make our guest feel a little more comfortable."
The servant moved to Lafitte's side. As he placed his hands on Lafitte's chest, the surinni felt warmth rush into him. With the warmth came pure energy. It surged through his body, pushing into every part of him with a forwardness that made Lafitte feel almost uncomfortable. To his relief, the rush of pressure halted. With the absence of the energy came a strength and vitality that he had not yet experienced on this plane. It was almost like being surinnar again. Lafitte actually felt almost normal.
Bishop made a short bow to him and then darted back to Dynast's side. The Lord smiled at him with an overpowering smugness. "You've regained your color. Did your tongue accompany it?"
Lafitte narrowed his eyes. "Yes."
"Good. Have some wine. If you shun my hospitality any further, I might get the notion that you're being rude." Dynast sipped from his flute, his eyes still on Lafitte.
The surinni took his glass, examining the contents. He'd never had wine on this plane before and wondered if its effects matched those of surinnar vintages. He took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste and disliking the strange warmth that flooded into him as he swallowed. Surinnar wines had any number of effects, from drastic emotional shifts to changes in physical appearance. One vintage even gave the drinker butterfly wings for a few hours. What was so special about this stuff?
Dynast looked at him pointedly. "Well?"
Lafitte cleared his throat, trying to dispell the warmth in it. "It doesn't really impress me, compared with my previous experiences."
The King growled, his face twisting with anger. "What the hell would a surinni know about wine?"
Lafitte took another sip, drinking simply to raise his host's ire. "What the hell would an incarnt know about surinni?"
Dynast paused for a moment, his face frozen in an indescribable transitory expression. He seemed to be deciding something. Then the mask broke as he laughed. "Touche." He cocked his head. "I beg your pardon, oh honorable guest. I never requested your name. How rude of me."
The surinni shrugged. "Lafitte."
Dynast smiled with false politeness. "Is that all there is to it?"
"Why the hell would there be anything else? Surinni don't need surnames or useless titles. We are what we are, regardless of what we're being called." Lafitte punctuated his statement with a swallow of wine, and wondered why the strange warmth was becoming pleasant.
"Ahh. I see. Forgettable names for an insignificant race. It certainly fits." Dynast slid his finger over the rim of his glass. "It's a shame that you say the vintage is just as unimpressive. I know Xelloss enjoyed the wine here." Dynast scrutinized Lafitte's face as he spoke. His eyes were alert, contrasting his relaxed words.
Lafitte snorted. "Must have been the only thing he enjoyed."
Dynast smiled. "Perhaps. But I'm not interested in the past. I'm interested in the present, and Xelloss' whereabouts in it."
"Ya don't say." Lafitte smirked, draining his glass. Bishop immediately darted forward to refill it.
"I do say." Dynast's fingers stroked the neck of his glass. "Would you be willing to aid me?"
Lafitte snickered, the sound turning into laughter as he found Dynast's words inexplicably more humorous with each second. "Hell no. Why would I do that?"
The King smiled. "Because I can be very convincing. Bishop, please attend to the library. I'll request your presence when it's wanted." The boy darted away. Dynast walked to Lafitte's side, chuckling as the surinni frowned in confusion. "You asked me what an incarnt would possibly know about a member of your esteemed race. I have a question for you in reply: Did you know that surinni have the lowest tolerance for alcohol of any known creature in existence?"
Lafitte tried to reply, but Dynast's mouth sealed his lips shut. When he attempted to struggle away, he discovered that his limbs were lax and barely responded to his mental commands. He began to panic as Dynast lifted him into his arms.
"You are Xelloss' servant, and in that role you fulfill the duties that he cannot." Dynast walked to the bed, licking his lips. "There were some acts he promised to do for me that you will have no trouble performing. You owe me for the wine, anyways." He laid Lafitte on the bed, crouching over him. "Perhaps after that, we'll see about Xelloss' location. I don't mind a hostile witness. Like many other acts, interrogation is its own reward."
Lafitte wanted to retort, but no insults could come to mind after Dynast began to remove his clothing.