My excuse for writing already? It's the weekend, yeah. I did say I was not replying to reviews but the ones y'all gave me actually made my day.
[EDIT] I really want to thank ShadowThanatos for sticking by, and helping me get the whole chapter edited and remade. The fam deserves some love, so go check out his books anytime :)
Here's the new chapter. I'm so sorry if there were any mistakes, as I haven't had time to edit. If you do please tell me :)
JuicyFruits123-IKR! Like there's literally so much "Percy and Chaos" stories that it's basically a new form of fanfiction cliche... I appreciate the tips and yeah - I've added Zoe to the tags. See ya in the next chappie!
TheCat413- Yeah, it's you... Yesse. I find it amazing how you always find good parts of each chapter and just "incorporate" it into the character-building I'm doing for Percy. Thanks for sticking by bro. :)
BearWarrior3000- Appreciate the tips, and yes, it was confusing at times, probably with all the POV shifts.
...
I'm sorry if I haven't informed all of you about my updated schedule. I'm classified as the "I write when I'm in the mood", not the "too lazy to update guy". Yeah, just sending the message out, because update schedules have really been rocky these couple of weeks. Enjoy the Chapter :)
Chapter 10
Delusions
3rd Person POV
A cloaked figure walked calmly into the Parthenon in Athens, seemingly innocent to the chaos in the city due to the rumor of a new empire that was rising in the west, appearing to be surpassing Greece in terms of military power. Even the Gods, who were in power because of Greece, were becoming a part of this new empire.
Soon, the empire of the west would close in, and Greece would be gone once and for all. All that would be left, would be slave states, acting as puppets for the empire.
This figure was alone and walking up to the Athena Parthenos, the symbol of this important Greece city, as if they were going to pray to the goddess to help Greece in this war, even though Athena couldn't do anything without invoking Zeus', or now Jupiter's, wrath.
Instead of getting down on their knees to pray, the figure just stood there, staring and admiring the statue. They couldn't break themself away from the Greek symbol of power and strength. They weren't sure how long they stayed and was bought out of their thoughts when a manly figure to their left cleared his throat, causing them to jump.
The figure snapped their head to the left, a cloaked man leaning against a pillar near the statue. "Hoping to pray to the goddess for help to stop the city from falling?"
Their mind bristled at the man's words but kept her expression stoic and emotionless. I am a Goddess. A mere mortal cannot invoke my anger. "There is still hope. Greece has always rallied, and it will rally again." The figure, now identified as a goddess, said calmly.
The other cloaked person shook his head and sighed with sadness, looking at towards the city with fondness. "Sadly, that won't be the case this time. Even the Gods have already become a part of this new empire, Rome. There is no hope left for Greece."
Despite how much she despised his words, she saw the spark of wisdom in them. Deciding to ignore him for now, she continued to gaze up at the statue. How she longed to see this statue, in such a different scenario...
There were a few minutes of silence before the man spoke again. "One word I would use to describe both this statue and the goddess it was named after would be beautiful, don't you agree?" He asked, gesturing towards the statue.
"I agree." the woman mused, giving a tight-lipped smile before the man started chuckling. Her blood boiled, but she reigned herself again, choosing the ignore the man completely before she did something rash.
"You know, I met her once." He said casually, causing a bit of surprise to form in the goddess. I have met plenty of people, I think I would remember this cloaked figure. "She made me understand I must let things go to get past them."
She froze.
The words were familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place them. "Why aren't you fighting for Greece? I see you are a warrior." She asked, eyeing his sheathed sword.
"Not anymore. I am quite old. Long gone are my days of fighting for Greece's honor," he sighed, making his way next to the woman, his face still hidden. "But she is beautiful, only a blind man would deny it."
The words bought a smile to her lips. "Indeed, she is."
He chuckled again, much to her annoyance. "I never would've thought Athena would be one of the vain ones," he said, shaking his head in amusement.
The woman removed her hood, looking straight into where the eyes would be on the hooded man. "Who are you?"
"A lowly demigod, seeking vengeance for Greece. Nothing special." He turned to leave, cloak swishing dramatically behind him.
"Wait!" Athena cried, running towards him, suddenly realizing who the figure is. He stopped and faced her.
"My father will hunt and kill you once he finds out you're alive." She informed.
The man smirked and removed his hood, revealing Perseus' face, his eyes filled with mirth. "How did you know?"
"I'm the Goddess of Wisdom," Athena smirked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And don't worry, I'll keep your secret. Alive, or immortal." She said hopefully.
Perseus faced the goddess. "Why would you do this? You owe me no debt."
Athena frowned. "The Gods are different now, always in their Roman aspects. The Romans turned me into a minor goddess of crafts and weaving. I hate it. Nobody respects me, not even my father." Her expression turned sour, and she found herself glaring at the statue now, in distaste.
He scowled. "I'm sorry about your father, and I'm sorry. You were one of my favorite Olympians because you were strong, but just."
Athena smiled at the demigod before turning serious. "We'll meet again. I wish you luck on your journey ahead."
He gave her his trademark smile, but no words came from his mouth as he turned to leave.
You always said I was a good manipulator, Death... but you were the most brilliant of us all...
...
Hopelessness didn't taste so much like defeat as it did the soured acerbity of rotted fruit. And for the first time since ever, he felt its' vestiges clawing painfully at his heart. He thought of the girl with eyes of dark chocolate and hair the color spun darkness laughing and tugging on his hand, and threw back his head as a choked, strangled noise made itself out of his mouth.
"I care for nothing," he gasped. Especially not her.
They had always been close, but she had left, and he was all alone again. Too engrossed with his goals of revenge. He thought of the two of them, young, grim-faced immortals desperate to find a new way in life.
She needed a new beginning, and what did he need?
"Don't think I buy your story for one second. There's something you need me for and now I cannot say no." He took a small breath, the smiled thinly at the endless ceiling above. Somewhere, a lone wolf howled at a dying star.
I've watched you die thousands of times, and now it's my turn to live fully.
The scene shifts...
He finds himself in a body, not his, a stout man with a gladius at his side. Roman - he realizes. Too late, he finds himself once again, immersed in visions that are not his. History always repeats itself...
...
Once upon a time, very long ago, there lived a woman named Cassandra. Cassandra of Troy. The daughter of old Priam and quick-tongued Hecuba, she was rumored for her immortal beauty. Some say that it was bestowed upon her by the Gods themselves. Others, jealous, claimed that Priam, having an eye for lascivious beauty, was seduced by a siren and Cassandra was the product of their unblessed union.
Her charm and brilliant wit drew attention to the Sun-God, Apollo, wooed her without success. Angered, he cast the curse of his prophecy upon her, so that she may always see the truth but never believed. She did not believe it to be a curse, at first. But when her desperate pleas continually fell on deaf ears, Troy burned.
Her gift of prophecy - indeed, divination never quite seemed to be a blessing any longer.
However, her sullen spirit passed through into the hands of Hades and Thanatos is unclear. Some say she jumped into the vast sea after being abducted and taken as a concubine for the Greek Agamemnon. Yet others claim that she was murdered by Agamemnon's unfaithful wife, Clytemnestra. However, it came to be no longer mattered, for the end result was the same, and was united in death.
...
[Song Tribute - Cradles by Sub Urban]
The gods were cruel beings. It was inherent in their nature, aligning those of the Titans and those before, those whose names cannot be spoken without punishment.
As a child, all Romans were warned of such by Lupa. She was never questioned.
But he knew the names nonetheless. He saw them. In his dreams. His nightmares. He took it upon himself to explore a path others would try and brush under the carpet in fear and denial.
Perseus the cold-hearted, Aether the malicious, Nyx the unfathomable, Chronus, Phanes, Anake, Erebus, Hemera, Gaea, Pontus, and others, the phantom faces without names.
Often, he wondered what they were really like, In their presence.
He walked a fine line between the brinks of the past and future, teetering on a shredding rope of the "present". And he felt them, he knew they were in his dreams, he saw it in their eyes, unforgiving, as if he were a fat fly on a windowsill they couldn't bother to squash.
Seeing them in person only made it worse, that throbbing pain, like a heavyweight that had settled on his chest, crushing him down, making it hard to breathe.
But as much as they were dangerous. they were alluring. He was a rabbit drawn to a wolf because there was a captivating type of beauty behind the silvered fangs and that dark, dark light that reflected from their eyes.
A deathless kind, the kind that didn't die from time but grew from mere sparks to a raging inferno. He couldn't help to be close, to touch, because he was a moth and they were a flame that roared and consumed because that was their way, and he would let himself be burned into ashes if only to be united with such a beautiful fire that burned within them, even if only for seconds.
The thoughts sent a torrent of hot fire through him, making him hiss. He rested one hand across the pillar of the temple. The cold burned through his skin. The night was brisk, and the night was rapidly turning into a frigid temperature, carrying it with a light tang of dry earth and oil.
He dropped his hand and left. It wasn't enough.
Oh? a voice said. Is that so?
He would say it began without much warning. He would say he didn't know it had come to this.
But no... that wasn't quite true. The little signs were there all along. He just did not pay attention to them until the birds stopped singing and the earth grew deathly still. And perhaps when he looked around to find the grass withered and not a single animal or person did he know nothing good was to come.
"Salve...?" He called out tentatively, slightly annoyed, trying to hide the uncomfortable prickle in his stomach with the usual mask of arrogance. There was no answer.
He was alone on the road. Curfew was long ago.
Clouds.
"Hello?"
One by one the stars winked out, like the sudden death of light after a storm. The moon was the last to go, but even Diana, in all her might, could not break the clutches of the darkness and bathed the world in an unnatural black. Then there was wind. Particles of dust and grit carried by the rapidly rising gusts broke through the borders. And through them, he heard voices. Cold, dark, and malicious. It was familiar in the echoes of time past.
So we meet at last...
Or maybe he had imagined it. He wasn't sure. The wind tended to make strange sounds sometimes. Maybe he was envisioning things that did not exist, or should not.
He spun in a distended circle. There was no one there. The storm blotched his inherent sense of direction. One hand keeping a firm grip on his knife, the other raised in a half-hearted attempt to shield his eyes from the debris, he attempted to move in a straight line, where he could see a faint, tall blur. Sand carried on the wind at his exposed skin, tiny little knives.
Rain fell.
No lightning.
No thunder.
Just rain.
You called me here. Your curiosity has landed you in trouble, little cat.
The wind carried the scent of something feral, wild, and completely untamed within its howling breaths. He didn't smell so much as feel it as it prickled upon his skin, drawing forth a discomfiting sensation of unease.
He saw his own footprints a moment before it was washed away by the diluted verdigris rain.
There was a boulder. He felt it as it impacted his legs. He pressed his back against it. It was tall enough and sturdy enough so that if he crouched down, it could block off all the wind. It was rough against his fingertips, a thin cold spreading over him, wet rivulets of rain dripping down its jagged edges, puddling into little crevices.
And perhaps... for several seconds, he entertained the hope that he was not the one the voice was after and hunched lower. The other Romans may think him arrogant, but he was cunning, and he knew this was a battle he could not win.
This was a battle no one could win.
A slow, deep chuckle, rasping into knives clawing against rough sand.
There's no use hiding from me.
His ears strained, desperately trying to catch any sound, but all he could hear was the rasp of the gale, moaning in lamentation.
Come out little pet, there's no need to fear.
The padding of soft footsteps. He probably imagined that too.
His hand went to the back of his head and came back wet. He looked up just in time to see heavy liquid fall out of the sky. Or he thought it came from the sky, because he could barely see the end of his own nose, and thank you, he was not Pinocchio. He was a far better liar.
He wiped it away with one hand.
It was thick, viscous, even. It carried a sharp, metallic odor that swelled upon his tongue and coated the back of his throat in a clammy film. Through the thudding of his heart, he inclined his face upwards again, but once more, nothing to be seen.
An omen? He thought of the Lycian King Sarpedon of the Trojan War, and how the sky wept red at his passing.
Several minutes passed. The dripping, at last, came to a stop.
he let himself breathe a small sigh of relief. He turned to go-
And saw it.
There was a figure, in the grey-black distance. He was obscured by the roiling mists created from the sheer force of rain impacting the ground. That was why he hadn't picked up on another's presence immediately.
Or maybe this time, he could feel the eyes piercing through the back of his skull.
An official. He could tell by the silhouette of the man's cloak, and the light armor that rested on his chest. He opened his mouth to call out, shoulders relaxing as he thought how stupid it was to feel so...
But when he blinked, the figure was already gone.
No, no. That was impossible. He had only taken his eyes off the figure for the briefest of seconds. It had probably moved out of sight. He squinted and blinked again as the world went in and out of focus. He felt the eyes once more.
There's no need to fear, unless you've done something bad. You haven't been bad, have you, pet?
He was being silly, really. Silly. He sunk back down to the boulder and squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, ghosts and the sort existed. His father had always hounded him about such that existed, and he had hastily brushed it away. Unbelieving. No, they were not allowed to roam as they pleased. The Gods ensured that.
The Gods would surely have sent omens.
Composure found, he breathed, and opened his eyes once more.
It took him several moments to focus.
Hello.
He screamed, because there was a face merely inches away from his own, the painted mouth fixed in a freakish, leering smile. His forehead smacked against the figure's festering, pale one, and from such a horrifying closeness, he could see the eyes, pupils grey-white, and the edges of its smile tainted red - blood? Blood that trickled and washed away in the rain, smiling up to its ears. Dark circles. He saw the teeth.
Stained red.
For all intents and purposes, it was dead, bled out. Yet it was not. It was coming closer.
There was another smile, a large gash, he assumed, on its neck. There was too much blood for it to be otherwise. It was straight and true, and just barely nicked the jugular. Enough for the body to be drained away slowly but still cling to the last few minutes of agonized, hopeless life.
Life?
It shuffled forward. Its wrists hung limply at its sides. Dislocated. He could see the bruises. Its head kept flopping to one side. Its arms were bumpy and at such an open and personal distance, he could discern the reason for the strange way of standing.
What remained of the feet were bones, hacked off and gleaming a polished white. A trail diffused through the puddles. The legs looked as though they had been ripped off, then roughly shoved back into the joint.
Except backwards. The backs of the knees faced out front, soft and white.
It was walking forwards - oh gods - it was trying. The body made a sick, jerking motion as it struggled to compensate for the position of the legs. A little bit like a pigeon, really. A pigeon with that never flinching, permanent sick smile. Its arms stretched out, wrists dangling limply, swaying bonelessly from side to side with each lurch.
He was frozen with fear until he gathered his courage. Drawing out his pilum in a single motion, sheathed it at the corpse's neck. Blood, thick red blood spilled over his hands. Perhaps it was a little white.
Hmm, that wasn't very nice of you, little pet. You would do well not to make me angry.
It fell forward, arms crossing behind him, almost like a hug. The body was heavy. At such a close distance, it knocked the breath right out of him. He fell backward, the corpse flopping lifelessly on top of him, all semblance of life extinguished. Like a puppet whose strings were cut. A cold nose pressed into his neck. Its weight was heavy and cold.
He pushed the body off him. it left a blooming rose against the helm of his damp white shirt. He rolled it over. The neck had been completely snapped through. He didn't dare put his fingers against its neck, for he almost knew by instinct he would feel the mocking, fluttering imitation of life.
Fingers against bloated eyelids. A quick muttered prayer. A quick, muttered prayer. He could see that the corners of the mouth had been drawn down, but the lines gouged into its flesh slit a bright, happy smile. Bugs crawled out of its mouth. Silver, metallic ones. He quickly withdrew his hand and wiped it on the ground in disgust.
This person - body - had been long dead.
He pushed the body away and began to run. Away, away, away, as a trickle of something dark slipped into his nostril.
He slipped and fell. He shook the water out of his face. Blinked them out of his eyes.
Heard them again. The footsteps. Sure that the other wanted to be found. Otherwise, this storm he had created would swath him in sound and no one would be wiser until they found the body in the morning.
If at all.
Really, there's no point in running.
Same voice as before. Amused. Emanating from his left.
"Who's there!" He shouted.
Are you sure you want to find out?
Eyes, blacker than night though tinged, many different colors, opened. Teeth were revealed in a smile. It didn't reach the eyes. It didn't even seem to exist at all. This man, if it was even a mortal man, was like a black hole - any and every feeling seeped out of him, draining him away to leave him cold and numb.
"Hello."
He froze.
"Who- Who are you! By the name of the Gods, I command you to leave." He stammered, confidence waning.
There was shaking in his voice. His voice never shook. He clenched his hand and steadied himself.
Shadows coalesced. The dark-eyed figure stepped out of the darkness even as the last shadows bound together to form his arms, legs, and the tips of its broken, deathlike wings. It cocked its head to one side and bared its teeth into a grin.
Stars burst into the void.
"The Gods hold no power over me."
Ridiculous. The Gods held divine power. There was nobody...
"You are trespassing in Roman territory. I don't know why Terminus let you through, but you will leave." He said it firmer this time, a small piece inside him begging this stranger to leave.
"Terminus..." Something came to roll by the figure's outstretched hands, bumping gently against his nose. It was made of stone. "wasn't very nice. So I dealt with him the way I warned him I would."
There was a weapon. Two weapons. They were similar but different. One was shaped like a leaf, curved and plain. The other was the same length, stars, and engravings decorating the hilt. They both possessed a kind of terrible, wild beauty to the sharpness of its curves. If the being was made of darkness and shadows, then its weapon was woven from strands of moonlight, and the two fit together in ways that should never have been possible between opposites.
"No hard feelings, you understand," the stranger said pleasantly. "I have nothing against you. The Gods, however, are another matter altogether. They took everything away from me. Perhaps you would understand if you truly came to know who I am and all they have done."
"I am loyal to the Romans. I will not join you."
"I never said you would."
The blades passed from hand to hand. His eyes followed its movements fervently. "Who are you?" He inquired again.
"My name is yours to guess," the other said. Its wings were like those skeletal bones, black tatters drifting aimlessly in the wind, matching the darkened color of its eyes. he could see nothing of his face. For a moment, he thought of Thanatos. Perhaps that was how it controlled a dead corpse. He banished the thought without a second thought. It can't be...
"A... A Titan."
But even as he said it, he knew it to be false. The being knew it, too. Its smile widened fractionally.
"The Titans? Ah... little Gaea's spawns. I remember when she came up to my knee. It's a pity, really, it turned out the way it did. I quite liked her."
It was disturbing to hear how casually the name was spoken. Like a childhood pet. Harmless, pampered. Perhaps, compared to him she was and didn't that just bode well with the Gods.
"I-I don't know."
"Then boy, I will give you one hint. A Repayment of your curse, I suppose."
What curse? He never knew about any curse. His palms started sweating.
He didn't want to look. He jerked back, shook his head, and tried to tell him to stop, but his face was the color of marble and his lips may have been made of stone. He watched as the other pushed the hood off its head, revealing skin color of fresh snow, hair darker than the shadows from which it was birthed, and eyes that glowed in the darkness like lamps, an exquisite bone structure that seemed both fragile but ethereally powerful at the same time.
Not like the skull and skeleton he had been expecting. Not even close. It - he- was beautiful, aquiline angles bordering past perfection.
His memory whispered.
"We have... met before."
Lips curved slightly in approval. "Indeed, But perhaps, you may recognize me better in this form."
And then those wings tucked in, blocking his view in a flurry of pale white and black feathers. When they withdrew, he stared into those amused blue eyes, reflecting the endless sky. Unruly black hair, not nearly as dark, and skin that seemed slightly tanned. Not as tall. But the same power lay underneath his skin, bubbling, eagerly writhing and begging to be unleashed. The eyes did nothing but change color. Still, they held that flat, vindictive edge. Somehow flawed, but twisting the impression so that it seemed even more frightening if it had been whole.
"No..." he whispered, through dawning horror. "No!"
"Yes..." the other hissed.
"I... Stay back!"
"I'm afraid not." The twin daggers were still there, but as he watched it change into one full celestial bronze sword. Now, they were the same height, but still, he felt so small in comparison, so weak. "You let me forth, from your imagination. This is what I will become. I'm afraid I cannot let you warn others." He had a white- lighting smile. "No hard feelings."
He crawled backwards on his hands and knees. The other followed at a leisurely pace.
He wasn't sure where he was escaping to. There was no conception of space or distance in this wet, grey world. His hand impacted on something soft and squishy and sunk down. He looked back and almost screamed to the top of his lungs to see the corpse, still lying face down. By now, it had bloated to the size of a small elephant, and whiter than a dead fish's belly.
He had gone in a circle.
The other traced a single, glowing rune on his palm, smiled viciously, and stepped backward.
"Take the knife, boy," the other said. At his hesitance, "you seem to have such a fond tendency to kill small animals. You seem to forget that the rites are meant to be performed with the innards of flesh-and-bone animals and sacrificial humans. So, go on. See what the Gods have to say for you. Will they save you?
He felt sick to his stomach. The smell of blood leaked into the air, noxious fumes more corrosive than poison.
Too much. This was too much.
The Gods are cruel, aren't they?
He wasn't sure how he still thought of his face as pulchritudinous when he was sure it was going to haunt the rest of his days with nightmares to come.
He shook his head, disappointed, and something inside Caligula's gut twisted painfully. "Hmm... Weak-willed. I expected better of Romans. But it matters not, I suppose; either you will be disposed of soon enough or be properly trained. Very well-" He felt a slight pang of relief, which was immediately taken away when the other continued without a whit of emotion.
"- I will perform the rites, and you will watch."
The sword was very sharp. It didn't draw out so much blood as it sliced through anything like wet papyrus. It smelled of death; the fetid aroma of necrotized flesh.
Suddenly, the smell of flesh was so much more potent than before.
The maggots were whiter than the flesh from which they feasted. As they crawled out, he noticed a kind of detached, morbid interest that the bulging bloated appearance of the corpse had now deflated, leaving a sagging shell of skin and half-chewed muscle. Oozing black liquid, pulpy to the touch, trickled out of one side.
A fitting representation of a child of war mangled by his own dogs.
Human intestines looked like ropes, except this one was squishy and eaten through, rotting. The other's hands were stained red up to its elbows, caking underneath his fingernails to leave darkened crescents. The other did not seem to be disturbed by the slightest and went around with the fluidity that spoke of practice.
Caligula couldn't watch. Gods... oh.
"Don't take your eyes off me."
No... please no...
"I said-"
Bloody fingers, long and slender but fully capable of breaking all his bones, pried one eyelid open. The figure's nail dug into his skin, and Caligula hissed as it broke through.
"-pay attention. Do you understand?"
whimper. He choked as more pressure was applied.
"An answer, boy."
"Y-yes... I... please."
Then the most horrible pressure was gone, and so was the hand, and when he clawed at his own fingers he felt the skin was whole and smooth, no signs of previous abuse showing.
In some ways, it was worse. He did not dare do anything but watch with a horror-stricken gaze, even as his mind began to shut down.
The other did this as though he had done this thousands of times before.
"What do they say? he asked, holding the length of the thing like an offering, proffered to the frozen Roman, who was taking stumbling steps back. He threw it. It landed at his feet. It coiled itself, spatting open on impact and sending a shower of gore across the off-white of his toga. Caligula could still make out the words, flickering in rivulets of blood, and watched in disbelief as they burst in tiny explosions of his eyelids with more potency than the rabbit stuffings he had ever given.
"Well?"
He swallowed. "I'm sure you know already. You're just playing with me."
"Very true," the other conceded with a slight brush of his lips. "But I asked you a question and I expect an answer."
For Rome
"It is the will of the Gods."
There was no surprise. Yes, the figure must have already expected this answer.
"So in the end, you were nothing more than a pawn to them. Then... I suppose that this rock will be your headstone and this child your eternal companion. It will end where it started."
The last question lingered on the tip of Caligula's tongue. It was redundant, but...
"Which one... are you?"
The sword paused in its pendulum-like motions for the briefest of moments. Even so, there was no escape.
Silver flashed.
'Does it truly matter to you now?" The other purred. And suddenly, he was close, oh, so closer than before, so that Caligula could feel the icy hurt that resounded deep in the other's heart, as those eyes had cut all the way into Caligula and he was only noticing just now.
"I..." he licked his dry lips, voice cracking. "I need to know."
Fingers, cold and merciless, took hold of his chin and forced his face to the sky, to meet the burning gaze that he had dared not look too long into. At the touch, he felt something burning away beneath his skin, an ice-cold feeling. A sudden brush of power, light and teasing against his own.
Raven brows arched. One side of his mouth slowly stretched upwards, revealing teeth. Sharp, thinner than a snake's venom.
"You feel it."
Satisfied. Pleased.
"I... I do." he agreed, feeling a wave of ascendant imperium knock his senses backward.
"Good... very good."
The Primordial shifted back into his dominant form, and the amount of power that jumped, like crackles of electricity, onto Caligula's skin made him hiss as his body began to glow, beginning to combust as it became too much.
Then it faded just as quickly as the touch had faded, and the glow fizzled into nothing. It was if someone had robbed the air from his lungs. He staggered backwards, wheezing, a dreadful cold inside of him that screamed for things that were now missing.
"You are addicted to power, little cat."
He needed it. He needed it.
"There was once someone like you. I remember him well. He was a young king, and he reveled in his power. He could not live without it. So he created... beings, I should say, ones that you would see in even your nightmares. But ah, I should not be telling you of such things."
There was a bloody pugio. His own. It was being offered to him, hilt-first. "Take it."
He did. It felt tinny in his hands. Heavy.
"There is something I need you to do," said the Primordial, long, slow, judging. "That is, if you want to prove yourself to me."
He needed it.
"I... need it."
Smile. It pulled at something primal inside of Caligula. A flicker of that aura brushed against him, making him shiver, reaching out to it in longing.
"And you will get it, if you do not disappoint me. " As if in promise, those fingers traced his lips, staining them a faded red, which was soon washed into streaks by the lashing rain.
A promise. "If you do what I say."
A low, whining keen struggled to rise in his throat, but with the last remnants of Roman pride, he pushed it down.
Hoarsely, "What do I need to do?"
Approving.
There was a body, then. Another one. Another guard. Only this one was alive, eyes wide and white, struggling in his captor's grip. The Primordial stood still and gaunt, like a manifestation of a shadow, like he wasn't all there but it was enough, it was enough for him because he needed this.
So badly, to prove himself.
The knife felt slippery in his grip. He clutched at it tighter. He looked down at the blade, and watched as the rain cleared away the crimson flecks, until he could see his gaunt expression. Cold, grey eyes, wavering back indecisively.
"Kill him," said the other, his voice terrible in an enthralling sort of way. Caligula felt his bones melt, leaving him shaking, a young willow tree, his spine guided by the forces of the Elements - the Primordials.
But a fellow Roman... he held no love for them, but his duty...
"Oh? Are you having second thoughts, pet?"
It was purred. The low, throaty, sound sent shivers down his spine.
"No, No I am not," he choked out, swallowing down the lump that had suddenly risen to his throat. His mouth tasted metallic and dry. He gripped his pugio tighter, so that his knuckles were white against the bloodless color of his hands.
The guard was thrown in between them. Slowly, the Primordial shifted so that he was facing both of them.
"Then, go on." He urged.
Caligula's fingers slowly, reluctantly, wrapped tighter around the hilt, and he wasn't sure if there was anything on earth that was heavier.
The guard - who looked in his late 20's - pled with him.
"You- You don't have to do this."
"I must."
'You don't! He's only using you, can't you see?"
All the while, the Primordial watched with that lilting, amused smile on his harsh face, watching the desperate machinations of the fated Roman with all the certainty of a cat and mouse. Caligula had no doubt that even if he failed his task, the Primordial would snap both of their necks without blinking an eye.
Let me go. Free my chains.
A thick buzz filled his head, drowning out the hysterics within his thoughts. Blocking out the pleas.
He reached forward dreamily, then paused as a new voice spoke in his head, sharp and cold and clear.
I can't let him down.
He drew back, his eyes unfocused. He managed to see the Primordial's lips curve briefly in languid approval, and that was enough for him, that was enough.
The guard's eyes widened. He raised his pugio, unearthly light glimmering off the edge of the blade.
I can't let him down.
Blood, thick, tannic, and sour, spilled over his hands and drenched his sleeves, soaking through the front of his toga, staining everything red, red, red, red.
I can't let him down.
By now, the pleading had fallen to quiet, hysterical sobs. No mercy was to be given, and sadly, that was the way of the world. The Roman curled into a ball, golden hair splattered with blood, the color of dying sunsets.
I can't let him down.
"Enough, pet."
He wasn't sure when everything had gone silent, and he wasn't sure if he would've stopped himself either, because his brain had long since shut down. But that touch, cold, witheringly perspicuous touch of other's hand wrapping around Caligula's own wrist, stopping his movements, made him drop his knife.
A slow, dark chuckle. Echoing, "Your curiosity will land you in trouble one day, little cat. Just not tonight."
He blinked owlishly.
"I heard that satisfaction... bought it back..."
"And in the process, the cat lost nine of its lives. You only have one life to lose, so you would serve to guard it religiously."
"I...I will."
"You've been good. I think... I think I shall give you a gift. Yes..."
Eagerness pulsed through his body. He stared up at the other with wide, eager eyes, entirely unbefitting of his previous demeanor and reputation. Some part of him, some part buried far underneath the lust for this darkness, reared back its head.
Romans do not act like this.
"You wished for my name. Very well, I will concede. You already know what it is not."
His mind blanked. Blue swept across pale grey. He watched as they bled red.
"To you Romans, I am Erebus of the Endless. But you, Caligula, may call me Master."
Some people forget that the Primordials are of the highest order, unfathomably powerful, utterly ruthless, and entirely lacking of moral code.
Well, that was seriously an enjoyable chapter, with the Erebos cliffhanger at the end. Not to mention Caligula. Thank you all so much for following through, and those reviews, they make my day so much brighter!
Oh my Gods, we've reached 50k words? Wow, my word count is already flying through the roof!
~no, *sighs* not really.
Well, see you next week, probably. My update schedule is on rocky ground, but I'll try my best.
Thank you all, and lookout for the next chappie !