-
It was a funeral!
Children played in the fields, birds sang in the trees, car-chario-wagons rolled to and fro on the cobblestone roads. All was idyllic and peaceful, phallic even, especially if one considered the rounded shapes of the houses, not to mention their oddly shaped roofs.
Yes, today was a good day to be alive, or dead, or so Shadow thought as he trudged into the next town - the town of Snoicville. It was a happy place, filled with happy people, happy faces, and an abundance of happy happiness and joyous merriment.
Actually, it wasn't much of a town. Eight houses, of which four featured prominent and very stylised signs, one was obviously a ba-tavern, and one could be classed as a bank, or a fancy manor, or something.
Then there was the castle, cleverly situated in the middle of everything, and surrounded by the eight houses - four on each side.
"I'm out of place," the creepy voice of Miles called out from Shadow's left, and he couldn't keep himself from shivering violently. Some shuffling, then the fox slithered into the view of Shadow's left eye. "What are we looking for?"
A trick question, Shadow thought, then scratched the splintery wood on his head.
"Well," he mumbled after a few minutes of silence, "I have no idea, but let's check out the shops while we're in town"
"Village," Miles almost whispered. "Despite the castle, this is a village." Then he gracefully stepped in front of the black hedgehog, which could not be called a gangsta at this point of the adventure. To Shadow's surprise, Cream, the love of his life, followed the fox like a slave.
-
A fat man, with no hands, one arm, no feet, and no legs, barely acknowledged the trio's presence inside his weapons store,n or 'arse-enal,' as he so often called it. Of course, Shadow had no way of knowing this, now did he? In any case, he did, for some reason that could, potentially, be explained in the future, but probably won't. Shut up! I'm going to rewrite this, revise it even, with black-jack and hookers! And I won't forget the revision, because it's my all!
"Yeah, right, welcome," he finished by spitting a massive ball of chewed tobacco at them, which passed only centimeters from Shadow's left ear. He sat on a stool, and looked pissed for no real reason, other than that it may just be one of his character traits.
"We need guns," Cream whined. "Lots of guns." The man frowned, then a piece of tobacco struck her in the face.
Miles, in an uncharacteristically emotion-packed act, sighed, put his right hand on his forehead, then shook his head an excessive number of times, and Shadow heard the unmistakable sound of grinding teeth.
"These two would like to trade in junk for hardware," he calmly stated before pacing over to the man. "However, I don't see anything of value in here."
"You fool!" the man shouted. "Everything's digitalized these days, including weapons, armor, helmets, shoes, data, money, drugs, and my tobacco! Here," he slammed his elbow against the wall behind him, and a counter appeared out of nowhere, as well as several crates stuffed with useless equipment, "my selection! Now, turn in your shit"
And they did so without ever looking back.
-
They made a beautiful exist.
Miles' superior charisma score, not to mention extremely high Persuasion skill, meant that they successfully traded Cream's stick for a platinum scepter of ogreslaying, a light plate, two pairs of iron-plated shoes, a shield made from solid gold, a shotgun made from solid gold, diamond buckshot shells, a six-shooter, two splintmails, and a pool cue.
To prove his superiority, and assert himself as the true king of fools, Miles also demanded that the man gave him all the cash in his register, which he duly did.
Unfortunately for the trio, the shop only sold human-sized armor, so the classically, although highly unrealistic, Shadow and Cream were left without any improved defensive abilities, and Miles never put on any of the new gear.
All items bought vanished into thin air, and the content-looking fox pulled out a lollipop from one of his pockets, then led the group out of the broke dealer's shop.
"I have no idea how that happened, or why you even did it," Shadow almost grunted, then stretched, pool cue in hand.
The fox shuffled the candy stick between his lips, then came to an abrupt halt no less than eight steps from where they started out, to no one's real surprise, since they'd reached the castle.
"Magic," he declared, then withdrew the lollipop from his mouth, even waved it around like a magic wand a few times, "and preparation is key."
"I thought I was the magic user," Cream mumbled, almost sobbing.
But, alas, before either male fighter could say anything, they were greeted by a small army of gray and blue guards, and Shadow noticed that they all had an uncanny resemblance to each other.
"Halt!" the only one that wasn't a clone, a human in red armor and a gray helmet, as opposed to a gray helmet and blue armor, called out, his halberd pointing in pretty much all directions known to science at the same time. "I have been instructed not to let anyone pass, be they man or beast, but I might give you passage, if you give me a platinum scepter of ogreslaying."
Shadow couldn't believe the sheer mass of stupidity, but saw no reason to argue. He simply produced the aforementioned scepter, which was probably worth a small fortune, and handed it to the guard, who was obviously captain of the guard.
Well, obviously he was.
-
And there was much, much sadness as they strode into a miniscule yard, partially covered by perfect lines of perfectly cut tombstones.
A large gathering of people, presumably everyone that inhabited the to-village, had gathered to watch someone, in this case a very deformed blue thing, being lowered into the ground, in a coffin made from rare and precious minerals, and beset by large emeralds.
"Oh, look," Shadow said and pointed, almost unable to suppress a gasp at the riches located only a few steps away. "A funeral!"
"There is indeed a funeral," Cream called out, too, then stole Shadow's pool cue.
"Who's the dead guy?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't you know?"
"Because I don't know."
"Why's that, you think?"
"I don't think at all; I'm a petite, preteen heroine, with an annoying voice, child-like features, and a virtual warehouse filled to bursting point by stupid one-liners that I spew constantly."
"Oh."
Then Miles had enough of their antics, and, while grinding through his teeth, forcefully shoved Shadow straight forward, aimed for the coffin with the dead guy in it.
Because Shadow hated life in general, he decided that it was a smart move to grab the fox's arm as he passed him, and this, for some reason, and despite the fact that Shadow, with all his gear on, weighed less than Miles, dragged him along into the coffin.
"And we deliver this child of darkness to you, our lord satan," the occult priest, who was surrounded by a ring of candles, eyeless villagers, and bleeding goat heads, muttered while reading from a black tome of epic proportions, then he kicked the coffin so hard that the lid closed.
-
Shadow couldn't have been happier, especially considering the awkward position he was in.
His larger, sexier, and so much more useful companion lay above, and seemed eerily untroubled by the prospect of being buried alive, along with a bloody, mutilated corpse.
The combination of fox and darkness got to his head, and his arms slowly wrapped around the warm waist of the one above.
No protests, yet he knew he shouldn't do it. Shadow bit his lip, head curled up against Miles' leather-covered back. He'd be happy if he went through with it, wouldn't he? Yes, of course, at least for a short while, but then what.
Yes, then what. His tail wrapped around the hedgehog's left leg, and he knew then that he was doomed.
"If you like what you see," the fox's voice had changed, grown softer, warmer somehow, and Shadow felt his paws being grazed by Miles' hands. His touch was unnatural, like he knew each and every single one of Shadow's dreams, hopes, and desires, and he couldn't help but sigh as they finally landed on his gloved fingers, "then take it."
It was an invitation, one that he could not resist, no matter how stygian the words sounded.
He crawled upwards, compacted himself so that he could fit between the corpse and his desired lover, then slowly inched his way up to Miles' head and upper torso. The height difference got to him, and he realize he would need stilts to reach his goal if the fox was standing up, but he didn't care - he was too determined to see it through, driven by needs and lusts he'd never even imagined could exist.
He laid his head to rest on the corpse's head, but payed the bloody pieces that entwined with his quills no mind; it was on other, more pressing, things.
As if on cue, Miles turned his head slightly, then regarded Shadow with his left eye. So very haunted. So very forbidding, yet so very, very irresistible and beautiful, like he'd been carved by a master sculptor, to mirror his version of perfect, which just so happened to be Shadow's version of perfect, too. What he had between his legs didn't matter. Normally it would. but not this time.
Without warning, the fox spun around, almost unhindered by the confines, then thrust his head forward towards Shadow's face.
Their lips touched, and a warm whiff of air struck Shadow in the face. It was so perfect. A long tongue snaked its way down the black one's throat, and the fox's left hand landed on Shadow's face. Its fingers moved, passed through the quills, pricked themselves repeatedly, yet the kiss didn't die. Warm red streaked his face, and he allowed a silent moan to escape his lips as Miles' right hand slowly, achingly slowly, made its way down his chest, index trailing through his fur, the nail just barely touching the skin concealed beneath
It was all so very wrong, so very taboo, but he couldn't resist.
The hand slid its way into his wood-plated pants, and then-
The lid swung open, and Shadow was eyed very closely by Cream, her head tilted to the left, face covered by a veryconfused look.
"Are you two wrestling?"
-
A booming laughter echoed from behind Shadow, then both he and his lover were forcefully ejected from the coffin by a pair of very cold hands.
Shadow landed quite hard, but quickly forced himself to turn around. What he saw didn't exactly shock him - it was more of a humbling feeling.
"Who dares disrupt the everlasting sleep of the recently deceased?" the corpse, now hovering for virtually no reason, spat curses at him, its face broken beyond repair, as if something had used it as an escape route. "I think I deserve an answer."
"No," Miles, who'd already gotten up, glared at the creature defiantly, arms folded across his chest, "you don't."
The black protagonist didn't believe his ears.
His dad, the decaying elder, had clearly stated that disagreeing with the undead only led to trouble, and plenty of it. Because the world hated him, the corpse froze, then exploded in a gory mess, and out from this mess grew a monster of titanic proportions: covered metal-laced muscle and bony protrusions. Its head was that of a goat, only the horns were larger, and it sported a figure that vaguely remembered him of humans.
Miles, ever the perfect timer, stepped to Shadow's right.
"The head," his left arm rose, then his index pointed straight at the massive thing in question, "is the weak spot, as almost always."
A loud sigh, courtesy of a certain rabbit.
"We can't kill that thing, and you know it," Cream chimed in from behind the fox. Shadow, though he was the hero and everything, silently agreed with his previous object of hidden desires. It just didn't seem possible to win.
"Amateurs," Miles frowned, then cocked his head from left to right. The creature busied itself with throwing dead villagers and tombstones around, and he didn't see any reason to rush.
"Then kill it yourself if you're so fucking good!" Shadow shouted, on the verge of panic.
-
Deep breath. Exhale.
Watch the current tide slow down as my heart-rate goes up.
Inhale sharply, feel the air scrape through my lungs like liquid fire. My right hand takes control, reaches for the knife
sheath located on the left side of my torso.
This is what death looks like when he's dressed in flesh.
My fingers close around the handle, and I recognize my emotions, my thoughts, even my mood. Head tilts forward as I draw the blade, enjoy the perverted joy it causes me as it slips from its protective covering, then I bend myself down into a crouch. I'm hunting again, for no reason other than the hunt itself.
Smirk, squeeze the plastic grip.
Then I pounce.
First step, and I've left all mortal men behind. Topple candles and skulls as I move with the speed of death.
Second step, and my vision's bouncing. Leap over the holy man, then he's out of my memory forever.
Third. The goal beckons me, draws me into its deadly embrace, and I desire it so. This is the only time when I'm free.
Fourth, and we draw. Blade meets horn, and the sparks and chips are everywhere.
I'm slashing for its arms, gouging holes and creating gashes in the unprotected flesh; a frenzied whirlwind of blood and steel. I weave my web, then barely step out of the way for its right arm; a hulking mass of steel-mixed muscle and bone, that impacts with the ground and scatters pieces everywhere. Drops of blood paints the grass my favorite color; crimson.
The sky feels red, slick, like blood, same with the air that passes into me, changes and charges me.
Error, and a massive one, detected too late.
Spin again, fix my arms like steel beams in order to prepare for the inevitable. Left arm strikes me like a flail, sends me flying backwards, and I can't help but wonder what went wrong as my feet leave the ground behind.
It's all in my mind, as always. Choose to ignore the pain, the impact even, because I can. My hidden strength is revealed for all those who care to watch.
My mistake, as is so very common, was to get too involved. I should have defended more, fought less, or at least mixed them as evenly as possible, but it's too late for that now - too late for even a final farewell.
Turn around sharply in the air, land vertically on a large tombstone, then it's time to retake the battle. Throw my head around, lock eyes with the creature. No fun, too bulky and slow, thus it must end now, before I get bored for real and take out my frustration on those around us.
Extend my left leg to the ground below, take a mighty breath, then I let loose an earth-shattering battle cry that is so out of place that the creature visibly backs away.
So much for the forces of pure evil.
I'm at it again before I've even had time to blink, my feet bounds me up its torso, towards its head. It looks so scared, like it knows what's going to happen next. I'm feared. By an incarnation of death.
Without warning, I swing my knife down in a vertical arc, which rips through the exposed skull with ease, and passes the metal deep into its brain, but I don't stop.
Grab a horn with my left hand, squeeze it so tight my fingers probably whiten, then I pull the blade downwards, towards me, and the skull can't even stand up to my strength for more than a second before it breaks like paper. It's already dead, obviously, but I like to play things safe.
Or at least that's what I tell myself when I'm all alone.
Split it open, down to the left eyesocket. A sudden spurt of blood stains my grinning face, but it doesn't matter.
My face warps into one of my sick smirks, and I feel alive.
-
"Wasn't that a bit too explicit?" Shadow stated as he watched the fox wipe his face on the body of a nearby dead villager. Red quickly replaced white.
"Explicit from your point of view, or my point of view?" Miles called back, without even so much as turning around. No answer came, because Shadow knew he couldn't best the fox. "I love winning mental duels with a single comment. It makes me feel so alive and superior," Miles shot back, neutral as ever, but his voice was obviously laced with both spite and disdain.
Once he'd deemed himself sufficiently groomed, he produced a large, green stone, to Shadow's shock and awe.
-
VT2 - 2006