Dissolution of Arms

By Eerie

Chapter Sixteen: Wounds Too Deep

D's eyes gazed blankly at the indifferent ceiling, threatening to slip shut and usher him into another empty sleep from which he could not be certain he would awaken. It was not often anymore that he would find himself in the harsh reality of consciousness, but he desired it far above the death-like slumber world that was quickly replacing that reality. How long had it been since he first found himself caged within these cold walls? Surely it could not have been more than several days, but the count on Manx's daily visits had blurred into the sensation of years. Now he could hardly bring himself to sit up much less think clearly.

The dark man would bring him a vessel of blood everyday, drawing it close to D's face to let the hunter be painfully sure that it was fresh. But he would not give in. And just when he imagined that the cup would be forced to him, he'd feel Manx's lips instead, drawing him out bit by torturous bit. Too weak to resist, he could only close his eyes and imagine the glorious moon and the freely rolling fields while the man pillaged him. There was undeniable pleasure in the act for his tyrant, but it never went further than what was deemed "necessary". For that, at least, he could offer some thanks. To be sapped of his dignity and strength alike would be too much to bear.

The half-breed's eyelids began to drop, as he had feared. The deathlike sleep would come soon. D wondered how much longer it would be before he was left as nothing more than a husk locked away in that cell, his spirit set free in shreds; if there was anything left of it. His lips parted slightly and drew in shallow breaths of the stale freezing air. But just before he could depart, the familiar sound of rusty hinges pierced the silence. He swallowed painfully.

When the demon's presence drew near, he whispered, a feat of strength. "Tonight."

Manx tilted his head and gazed at the dhampire's stark white features for a moment before replying. "A noble choice indeed. But something holds you back even still."

D breathed deeply but said nothing. The weakness that claimed every inch of his body told him that it must be soon. He inwardly prepared himself for death.

Manx kneeled down and stroked the hunter's hair, smiling. "You are far more courageous than I initially thought. I never expected you to go this long and not cave in to your craving . . . no, your most basic instinct. It's quite admirable. And now here you stand, at the threshold of death itself without fear." He drew his hand away.

The silence that followed his words was like a raging roar. The wait in that onslaught was perfect pain, but D refused to breath in those moments. Finally, the sensation he awaited touched him. But the cold agony was no longer a part of it. No, the kiss was soft, excruciatingly warm. From it he could almost feel supernatural light, though no sign of this graced the dark behind his eyelids. Was this the Kiss of Death? D wondered. But the last thread of his spirit was not being touched; rather, it felt as though it were being restored. Perhaps he was already dead. Still, that kiss held no malice. Manx would never be so forgiving.

D suddenly burned with a desire to know. With great care, he opened his eyes. But he did not see empty black ones gazing back at him. What he did see was somehow proof that he had indeed passed into the realm of the dead. But the longing to believe otherwise was strong, and he did not want to let go of the only source of warmth he had felt in so long down in that tomb. No, it was more than that. It was pure and utter relief, a sensation he had rarely felt so fully in his life.

The delicate lips drew away to hover just above his, and he was allowed to call the name that had not ceased to haunt him since he had learned it.

"Caruwyn?"

The albino's eyes opened to regard him. Those glittering ruby orbs that held such shockingly deep sadness for their youth stilled his heart for a moment and D knew it was no hallucination. It was enough; he didn't need the sweet and innocent smile, though it was gifted to him anyway.

"Why did you invite your death a moment ago?" Caruwyn asked, his breath hot.

The memory of that first night of their meeting returned to D's mind in vivid detail; he had said those very same words.

But instead of waiting for a reply, Caruwyn continued. "It's not the pain of knowing that you are weak or trapped in a cold, strange and unforgiving place, is it? It's being alone with nothing more than memories that you know cannot be attained again. It's the heartache. But I've come to realize that those wounds can't be healed."

Caruwyn pulled away, taking the long-desired heat with him. "Strange that death is the last resort when it's the most beautiful escape."

"How . . ." D murmured.

"But you had only to rethink your vow to abstain from blood. Something so simple. Are your convictions so strong that you would deny your very life to be saved? I cannot understand that. Why are their lives so important? Those humans you fight so gallantly to save? They kill to survive. Why should they be given the illusion of immortality? Tell me." Caruwyn crossed his arms and stood patiently for his answer.

The meaning behind his words struck horror in D. Caruwyn was not also a prisoner, but here by his will. And the nature of those questions made it sound as if he were involved in the hunter's imprisonment and torture. Any attempt to summon that newfound strength failed him.

"Why?" D gasped.

"I've always known there was something powerful flowing in my veins, and I'm sure you've noticed it too. No doubt that was the reason you picked me up. But I never imagined it would be so glorious. I wanted you to be with me, so I had to test you." Caruwyn smiled and snorted as he lowered his head. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd win."

The albino unfolded his arms. "No matter. You're here nonetheless. All I really need is this." Caruwyn bent and gingerly pulled the pendant around D's neck up into sight. "I trust you won't mind, if you still long for death?"

Confusion melded with rage and D saw red. His fangs began to emerge as his irises slowly took on a shade that matched Caruwyn's.

"You might kill yourself if you expend your energy like that," the youth stated, intrigued. "But you needn't worry. I won't force anything from you. So, in exchange for this stone you may go free, and if you choose, you may stay by my side in strength. Or you can refuse and die. Either way I'll get what I want."

"You're not yourself," D growled.

Caruwyn dropped the jewel and laughed. "Oh my dearest D, I've never been more myself."

"I don't believe it."

The albino smirked and closed his eyes. "So you don't want to answer then. Perhaps you need a bit more persuasion. I seem to recall an agreement we made some time back. In exchange for your invaluable lessons in swordplay, I'd teach you the art of sculpture. And truly it is an exquisite art, the art of beautifying through carving and manipulation. Are you still interested?"

D's rage yielded to the stab of pure dread that seized him when Caruwyn regarded him with eyes of deep and icy blue. A struggle to the death was what his body braced itself for; his fangs still would not retract for his imminent fear. He clenched his muscles tight and began to sit up, but the weight of the younger dhampire's body fell swiftly upon him and hands harboring shocking power seized his wrists, thrusting them up above his head. D struggled to free himself but found with dismay that he was held firm.

"You still deny me?" Caruwyn whispered sultrily in the prince's ear before squeezing his captive's wrists harder.

D groaned in pain and turned his head away. "Why are you doing this, Caruwyn?"

The albino removed his grip and began to work the fastenings at D's neck. "As payback, remember? That was your very suggestion," he said and laughed darkly.

The Dhampire Prince realized his hands were free, yet he could still not move them. Something unphysical remained to bind them. He tried to wrench away once again but Caruwyn was too strong.

The albino pulled the armor and undershirt from the older half-breed's body with a fluid ease that wouldn't disturb the spell on his former mentor's wrists. His fine nails trailed down D's chest in appreciation.

"Just as lovely as when I first saw you that night in the river. Do you know how much I wanted to touch you then? Of course you did," Caruwyn murmured strangely.

"Stop this," D said, drawing in quick breaths.

"Stop? But I haven't even begun," the youth said, blue eyes flashing.

Caruwyn half turned to the cell bars and lifted a hand toward them. In the distance came the clatter of something heavy and metallic as it approached from the stairway. A long shallow tray filled with various tools suddenly slid under the prison door and grated across the floor toward him. The object stopped within easy reach and Caruwyn made use of this fact as he bent to select a thick, handled needle that spanned the entire length of his forearm.

"The first rule is to choose the right tools for your object. You always start with the largest of these," the albino said factually.

"Caruwyn, please," D began but was stopped short when a scream shredded his dry throat.

The needle plunged into his side slowly but shallowly, releasing a brilliant stream of blood. It was with equal slowness that it slid upward, tearing a long trail through the hunter's skin. Caruwyn's face revealed no emotion as he extracted the tool and mirrored the wound on the opposite side.

D screamed again, its sound reverberating in the hard hollow room. The sound of the thick tool clattering to the floor followed.

Caruwyn bent again and gathered a handful of long steel rods. When he resumed his position, a look of confusion crossed his face. "Don't tell me you're ready to quit already. I gave you that bit of strength for a reason. Surely you haven't spent it so soon?"

A wicked smile lit up his young features as he pinched the skin just above the first laceration and impaled a narrow rod through it, a howl of agony rewarding him. Three more followed in succession before the ritual was carried out even more slowly on the second deep wound.

Blackness threatened to dominate D's mind. The screams that came one after another had a will of their own and he could hardly hear them behind the paralyzing pain. If not for the tearing sensation in his throat, he wouldn't have known whether or not he was screaming at all. His breath came in pants and his head felt light.

Caruwyn leaned close to his ear again. "And my favorite, the detailing tools. They have a certain kind of intimacy you could say."

The albino drew up a narrow rod with a fine point and placed it at the base of the pendant before dragging it with deadly precision down the center of the prince's breast. The tool's path veered off to meet the base of the first cut before the movement was repeated for the other side.

D's mind reeled as tears spilled unheeded from his eyes. The pain was fine and stinging, and he wondered how many kinds he would be subject to under the hands of the one he would never in his life imagine capable of such tortures. He could feel his essence surfacing hot in the wake of each tiny movement of the steel.

"Magnificent. Your body is even more beautiful when it's covered in blood," Caruwyn sighed and continued to drag the sharp object through the smooth skin beneath him.

The outskirts of unconsciousness away from the blinding pain were just within reach when the sensations lifted away. D came tumbling back to full realization just before he felt something warm slick through his wounds. A wave of nausea gripped him when he cracked his eyes open and discovered that Caruwyn was devouring him.

The youth dragged his tongue along the Dhampire Prince's torso, savoring the spoils of his work. When he lifted his head to meet the smoky eyes staring at him in disbelief he smiled, his lower face smeared in blood.

"My finest piece," he said and laughed in his throat. Sapphire eyes gleamed like a wild animal.

The last image D had before slipping into the clawing fingers of darkness was Caruwyn's blood-smattered face alight with horrifying ecstasy.

When D reawakened, he was alone. But pain was still sitting like a beast at the edge of the chasm of consciousness, waiting greedily to claim him. He groaned in desperation when he realized his body had done little healing while he slept. Chancing a look down, he saw that the torrents of red were cleaned away, but the wounds and steel rods remained. Surprisingly, the jewel did as well. His head fell to the side as he breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind. But the torture proved too recent and he began to writhe in an attempt to sit up. Suddenly he caught sight of something that seemed out of place. The gate in the cell bars laid open.

Clenching his tired muscles, the half-breed began the task. He could feel each bit of fresh skin that marked the start of his healing tear open as he pulled himself up and cried out. Stars danced in his vision but he moved on. He reached down and held his breath as he yanked the first of the steel objects from his flesh. With great agony he freed the others from the skin that began to grow to them and nearly fell back into the mindless dark he had just stepped from. Breathing hard, D opened his eyes.

Looking about, he realized his clothes remained in the cell. Carefully he retrieved them and pulled them on, fighting to ignore the pain. He fastened his mantle and placed his wide-brimmed hat low on his brow before undergoing the feat of standing. Slowly he pushed himself up; streams of searing hot blood weaved down his torso and soaked his undershirt.

D swayed for a moment, but allowed the blood to return to his head. As he made his way to the prison door he wondered if its state was intentional. He was certain he was walking into a trap, but he could do nothing if he stayed there. He paused and gripped the bars to rest, breathing hard. Images of Caruwyn's mad blue eyes and pale face stained with his blood seared his mind. He didn't know what was going on, but he still knew that the young dhampire, who had swooned at his first kill, could never be capable of such sadistic things. Someone had to be controlling him, he was sure of it. In all his life he had never felt such turmoil of emotions, save the death of his mother countless centuries ago. But he had no power then. And if he had any now, he would find a way to bring Caruwyn back. That bit of determination revived him.

D's hand itched to grip his sword again, but he could do nothing about that. Instead, he searched the small space on the other side of the gate for anything that would serve as a weapon. The torch flickered and D's eyes slid down to its finely pointed base. It would have to do. He ripped it from the rickety sconce and made for the stairway that lay beyond the dungeon door.

Ascending them slowly, his feet made not a sound. The flame in the torch crackled to betray him but there were no signs of life other than his own in the deep stairwell. Another doorway soon came into view just a few paces away and the hunter braced himself. The structure looked heavy and old, which meant that it would probably rent the air with the sound of screaming hinges once opened. It was with deliberate care that he inched it ajar.

Beyond he could see a great hall with the tattered banners of the Barbarois hanging upon the stone walls. Candelabras burned dimly beside them, casting long shadows over the bare floor. Further down was a great stone throne blanketed in thick cobwebs that spoke of years, perhaps centuries of neglect. Above it hung a coat of arms bearing the likeness of some undeterminable, hideous beast for its crest. Still, there seemed to be no one, nor nothing, present.

D set the torch on the step below him and slipped through the doorway like a feline before striding silently toward the crest. The swords behind it looked as antiqued as the family symbol the coat marked, but they were still swords. After glancing over his shoulder, D stepped up on the throne and tested one, surprised to find that it came away easily.

As he looked for signs of rust on the old metal, a faint scrabbling sound perked his ears. It approached so swiftly he barely managed to whirl about and glide the blade through the multi-legged monster's throat. The beast's head landed across the room, its pile of eyes bulging with surprise. D cast a look of contempt at it and descended lightly to the floor.

On the wall to his right a pair of massive iron sconces' candles sputtered and fizzled, drawing his attention to a wide open doorway. Beyond the orifice's arches laid another upward-twisting stairwell, the breaths of air down which seemed far less stale than the stifling environment of the ancient hall. D crossed the floor lightly and cast a prudent look behind him to see that there were no more lurking things waiting for his turned back before mounting the first step. With each one thereafter D sensed a stronger and stronger vibration in the air that could only mean that the stairwell's destination would be one of no ease to conquer.

Stumbling, D caught himself and hugged his arms tight against the fiery jolts of pain that shot through his body. He felt the wounds begin to ooze blood again, slicking him uncomfortably beneath his clothes. Suddenly a large, wiry black rat skittered from a crack in the wall and swept past him in a flurry of sharp claws and hideous squeals. With gritted teeth, he pushed himself back up and continued the winding coil of stairs.

Finally, the end was near. There was no heavy door waiting for him this time, only a few stray gusts of cold air that danced from the open archway. Pausing to catch his breath, D felt something invisible tugging at his mind, pulling him inexplicably to the other side of the doorway. Bracing his hand firmly on the foreign sword, D covered the final few steps.

Standing at the threshold was like reliving a nightmare. Another throne room faced him; a room drenched in darkness, save for the dim golden glow emanating from the tall structure on the far wall. Shadows that seemed to seethe gripped the edges of that light. The air felt as if it were laden with ice and D watched his breath cloud into thin white plumes. But nothing else stirred.

He went slowly, wanting to save his strength for whatever dangers that laid in wait for him. He had no doubt that they were eager to finish what Caruwyn had started, but he kept his attention solely on the large throne before him, somewhat relieved to see from the dim light that it was not made from bones.

A man was now seated in the royal structure with his hands spread to clasp either arm of the throne, his legs crossed, and head held firm as he waited for the hunter to approach. His long onyx hair hung loose about his shoulders and hid his eyes.

"Feeling better?"

D halted and held his sword out to the side. "What is your purpose?"

Manx lifted and studied a pale, long-nailed hand. "To have purpose is a blessed thing. But I fear ours are far too different."

Slamming his hand back on the arm of the stone seat, the demon lifted himself and retrieved a sword propped against its side. He began to close the distance between them slowly, swinging the sword back and forth at his side with nonchalance.

"Would you finally be at peace when every last vampire and dark creature in this world lies dead at your feet? What would you do then if that time were to come? Would you turn the sword on yourself?"

D took a defensive stance.

Manx chuckled. "A hunter till the end. It's truly a shame you could never become anything more. You forget you have the blood of the Vampire Lord coursing through your veins. Imagine the power you could wield. It is the same with Caruwyn, his powers are extraordinary."

"You forget that he carries the blood of humans as well," D replied.

"Humans? They mean nothing. His father's fatal weakness was caused by nothing more than a human. It was because of her that he became the pathetic wretch of a vampire he was before being delivered into the hands of death. By his own son no less." Manx laughed with dark amusement.

The hunter ground his teeth.

Stopping in mid-step, the demon looked surprised. "Did I touch a nerve somewhere?" His look of feigned alarm melted into a cruel smirk.

"You're using him," D said evenly.

Resuming his stride, Manx brought the sword up. "Ah but that's where you're wrong. I've shown him more than he could have ever hoped to learn. I've shown him who he really is . . . the potential of his powers. The two of us are bound to one another. Because of this, that precious human blood in his veins is weak. It has been from the moment of his conception."

"What are you talking about?" D all but growled, feeling his cuts pulse and burn hotter as the demon came closer.

"He carries my blood in his veins as well, and thus, he belongs to me. Such a perfect balance of essences. I contracted a seal to his father's blood that would create such perfection, in case he should abandon the nature of his darkness, turn weak and mate with a filthy human. So you see, I won anyway. Meier is dead and I attained his only son."

What weakness plagued his every nerve and muscle faded to churning white anger but the hunter's face gave nothing away.

"Now, about that unfinished deal. Have you come to a decision? Will you give it freely or will you die?" Manx stopped just paces before the hunter and pointed his shining sword at the pendant against D's breast.

The prince responded by swinging his blade up to knock the demon's own away in one powerful blow. D watched as Manx stumbled and recomposed himself, a look of rage crossing his pale young features.

The man's fearful black eyes flashed with malignance and his long shining hair flew wild. "So be it."

At those words, the seething shadows melted from their confines and slid grotesquely over the cracked stone floor to enclose the two swordsmen, blocking any means for escape. Their throaty chuckling and groaning hung in the air all around the freezing room as steaming tongues and glowing eyes slid in their cavities.

D felt them creeping closer, nauseated by their stinking hot bodies that surrounded him tightly in that huge frigid room. His body tensed as he held his sword out, waiting.

"I couldn't completely replace the feelings he has for you, those which should be for me alone. I'll never forgive you that. You'll see that what he did to you is nothing compared to what I'll do before you beg to draw your last breath," Manx snarled.

The dim gold light flickered to rusty red, casting the room in a hue of fresh decay before Manx matched D's stance. Only the disgusting seething of unholy shadowed creatures could be heard in that tense moment the signal was awaited.

To be continued . . .

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