I thought this chapter had been lost a long, long time ago...I was delighted to find a copy still lurking in my hard drive a few hours ago. It's my older work, and in need of some improvement, but thought would submit anyway.
As of now, am no longer updating this piece. Just so we're clear, folks.
The scene before him made him sick inside, and the bile stinging his throat ignited the murderous twitch in his enormous hands to wring the life out of the boy currently cradled in his lap like a small cat.
But soon enough, it had disappeared, and the Dark King was left morosely staring down at his charge in his winged chair, his emerald eyes wearily reflecting the cheerfully roaring fire before him. With a heavy sigh, he moved his hands-made rough by his leather gloves-to move the boy in a more comfortable position.
Danny cast him a blank, absentminded smile, turned his head to lean back against Pariah's spectral armor (a most uncomfortable pillow, but Danny will fall asleep wherever the king will let him) and closed his eyes again. He didn't seem to notice that his life narrowly escaped ending for the fourth time that day. Or care.
Then again, there's a lot that Danny doesn't really notice these days-the trembling psychologists that had been summoned to the castle from both near and far had noticed that much. Hopeless fools. If they weren't offering thousands of absurd, alphabet soup syndromes as to what might be ailing the child, they were kissing Pariah's boots, breathlessly praising him for his mercy as to allow them to leave the castle in droves. The vast majority can thank their lucky stars that Danny didn't throw one of his passions or his fits whilst being examined, else Pariah would have gladly had them dipped in oil and served for supper.
Veni, veni, Emmanuel
captivum solve Israel.
Come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel.
He wasn't at all sure why he'd bothered; even in HIS own prime, anyone could see that the boy was simply mad. Back then, no one would have bothered with absurd terms like "Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder" or whatever nonsense people were spewing these days. In his youth, Danny simply would have been dragged into a horse-pulled caravan, and left to die in a filthy, vermin-encrusted cell, if they simply hadn't accused him of being possessed by a witch, and tossed him into a lake somewhere.
So why hadn't he done likewise? He could never know, much less understand.
Sitting in one of his many parlors, Pariah watched an anxious servant hurriedly pile wood into the hungry blaze to keep it going, bow deeply, and scurry off. Still nestling against Dark, Danny cast the flames a warm look, but thankfully, stayed where he was. Much to Pariah's exasperation, Danny recently had taken up the bad habit of reaching out for things he found beautiful, such as a butterfly's wing or a gleaming, polished rock on the hilt on an old sword in the armory. Both of these things were relatively harmless, but more than once, Pariah had found a whimpering Danny clutching at brilliant green fire in his shaking hands, not willing to let it go, and not understanding why it was burning him.
Even a child knew enough to stay away from open flames! It horrified the lord, and because child-proofing this death-trap of a castle was impossible, he'd taken to haunting the boy's meek footsteps more often than he used to, putting off the treaties and petitions he had to review that day from his vassals. He scarcely ever had a free moment to breathe from the groveling hordes who couldn't understand to leave him well enough alone until he sends the Fright Knight galloping in their towns with a torch. That shut them up for a while, but because every rebellion and attempt to usurp him ends in their annihilation, they always return to him, pining. It wearies him, and he is somewhat glad for Danny's simple, often silent company. He'll patiently listen to the King rant, though he doesn't really understand what he's talking about. Then, he simply takes the sullen king in hand, and after being lead to wherever Pariah wants to go, the teen simply settles down, and affectionately rubs his smooth fingertips over Pariah's large palm. It seems to be the one gesture of affection that Danny can replicate anymore, because while embraces and the rare, stolen kiss make him smile, he doesn't really know what they are, or how to do them in turn.
In a sobering way, it was almost rather amusing; Danny couldn't hug, but he could clumsily make a paper boat, and send it down the dark, winding waters of the River Styx that surrounded Pariah's home. He could listen, understand when Pariah did not want to speak, or be shown a new treasure. He can cry over the most peculiar matters, such as when he sees the pretty butterfly he touched cease moving, and be well enough again in an instant, humming tunelessly as he dances down the hallway, his attraction caught by some shiny object.
He never asks for anything, nor does he fight back whenever Pariah loses his temper, and whips the boy. Danny only ever retreats in a corner someplace until, invariably, Pariah's cruel mistress, Guilt, comes to him with her hands on her hips, and Pariah has to search the enormous building for the teen.
One evening, when none of his servants could find the boy at all after Pariah had clocked the boy for making annoying squeaking sounds, the King had desperately torn apart his own chambers and suite in search of him, overturning every vase and suit of armor in his wake. He'd nearly torn apart a cowering maid who had the unlucky task of telling him that the kitchens had been scoured, but the boy could not be found.
Qui gemit in exsilio, privatus Dei Filio.
That morns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.
But Pity, another irritating mistress, checked him, and at last, Pariah had found Danny alone in a meadow far away from the castle, absentmindedly poking at a small beetle in a patch of electric blue wildflowers. Normally, Danny cast miserable and apprehensive looks at the King after the tyrant struck him, but Danny's look of content bliss had all but broken his heart.
Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.
Well, he supposed it would have, if he hadn't traded it to the devil some time ago.
Danny had had no problem in crawling into the man's arms, eyes serene-the same color of the flowers he had clutched in his hands in a small bouquet. Forgiveness came appallingly easy to Danny, considering he probably didn't remember that he had been wronged in the first place.
Pariah was disturbed out of his waking thoughts by Danny wriggling in his arms; was the boy hungry? He glanced down, took a fig from a nearby plate, and offered it to him. But the boy did nothing, other than give him an empty stare. Rolling his eyes, Pariah ate the fruit, and offered another to Danny. The boy contently took it this time, and even more gladly accepted the steaming cup of chocolate that the king offered.
Danny doesn't notice or care that the drink has cognac in it, but the boy sometimes has difficulty falling asleep at night, especially after waking from a night terror. While he never screams, (The fever had left his vocal cords permanently damaged) he would thrash about like a poor fish in their large bed, sweat pouring off from pale skin, gasping-never failing to accidentally stir Pariah in turn. Then, Pariah could sit up comforting the boy for hours on end, occasionally until dawn.
Fools and their modern-day medical science that bewildered the evil man to no end. The cognac at least kept Danny sleeping peacefully, which was more than those blasted sleeping pills one very unfortunate man had had the gall to prescribe for the child. Skulker could have thought up of less-gruesome solutions for his remains.
To be frank, the present circumstances of his second glorious rise to power left him hollow, and he might have given in to the cargo load of scotch and spirits in the basement, had he not the 24-hour job of keeping the little halfa safe. His servant Fright loathed the task of 'babysitting' and complained tremendously of it so much that Dark at last suggested he pursue a different career-as his executioner's test dummy.
Fright opted to keep his position, though Dark found himself more and more often doing these tasks himself. Around the holiday season, and the thrice-accursed holiday truce that was meaningless to him, he kept Danny around him when he worked, as it was simply easiest that way. He could hardly sign documents of Agreeing to Nonviolence while the memory of Fright carelessly allowing Danny to play with beautiful, sparkling shards of broken glass plagued him, and compelled him to set his desk on fire.
He'd punished his vassal by making him eat those shards. If he'd been human, it would have destroyed him from the inside out. Pariah just might have done it himself in his wrath.
Veni, veni, Adonai,
qui populo in Sinai
legem dedisti vertice
in maiestate gloriae.
O come, o come, Thou Lord of might,
who to thy tribes on Sinai's height
in ancient times did give the law,
in cloud, and majesty, and awe.
Danny had been with him for seven months, now. Any rescue attempts had been hastily thwarted and averted before they could even turn to fruition. For while Pariah would have fought to the death to protect a single silver spoon from being stolen away for him, he would have destroyed the Earth if it meant retrieving the insane child from the humans. He sought out the boy's comforting presence more and more often, wondering if Danny were pampered pet or humble slave.
In the midst of all his work, Danny was, ironically enough, a tie to his own sanity. While he'd spent generations gnashing his teeth in that accursed grave, his new life-or afterlife, more precisely-was exhausting. He'd returned to simply make a point, and reap vengeance for what long-dead people had done to him years and years ago.
And, of course, to torment the people who had sealed him away a second time. He'd gone too far in his fun with Danny, however; soon enough, the child had been in too much pain to have much sense of anything else, and had finally, disappointingly enough, succumbed his mind to the shadows. Rather than kill him and be done with it, Pariah had kept the sad little creature alive, and it followed him about gratefully like a meek lamb.
It was in both parts infuriating and endearing.
His bursts of laughter had followed the boy when Danny had fumbled at the bars of his beautiful prison desperately, before Dark had dragged him back to the bed to devour. Danny had been forced to watch as his loved ones disappeared before his eyes, and Pariah had proceeded to strip the boy of his dignity, his freedom, and, unintentionally or not, his sanity. He'd become somewhat fond of watching the child continue to fight like a fledging bird under the weight of his chains, when others would have succumbed long, long ago to Pariah, and worshipped the king as a god. He'd had consorts-too many of them-when, once they'd ceased to amuse him, had wound up broken in the depths of the sea. They were conspiring harlots, all of them: former royalty of the Ghost Zone that hoped to become a favorite in court.
But no one had dared to defy him as Danny had done. Danny had stopped eating at the end, but he'd never once stopped flashing Pariah a cold eye, until the beautiful blue orbs had become glazed over with fever.
Eyes flickering, Pariah at last stood up, glanced at the clock, and sighed. It was now time. He'd explained what tonight's events were-though he very much doubted whether or not the boy actually understood-but he'd so much rather stay here until he decided to retire, maybe draw up a hot bath and one of Ghostwriter's novels to read aloud to Danny.
Tonight was the annual Yuletide Ball that even the most sadistic and power hungry of his predecessors could never forgo. His entire court would be present, and while it was a nervous affair, it was also a dirty and flirtatious one, with people disappearing behind tapestries every few seconds. Not that unlike the balls of his youth, but now, it left him feeling hollow inside.
He cast Danny a sympathetic glance, and stood up, pulling the boy up with him. The boy wasn't very good around crowds, but he hoped the teen would be willing to dance perhaps a ballad or two without going out of sorts.
Veni, O Iesse virgula,
ex hostis tuos ungula,
de spectu tuos tartari
educ et antro barathri.
O come, Thou Rod of Jesse's stem,
form ev'ry foe deliver them
that trust Thy mighty power to save,
and give them vict'ry o'er the grave.
When the boy was looking away, Pariah drew a small kiss on the hybrid's forehead, his own creasing as he loomed his head back. Danny was smiling at nothing, kicking his feet in the air, mumbling inanely to himself. He looked quite charming in his attire-like a little woodland fairy.
He wished that Danny would kick him, beat at him, scream at him, and scrape off his kisses once again. Now, he was no longer anything. Just existing as a hollow shell, and a child's broken heart.
The boy had sealed him back into darkness.
And Pariah had done the same to him.
But he felt no satisfaction.
His cloak sweeping the floor, Pariah marched out of his parlor, gruffly slamming Danny on the ground. Stumbling, Danny quietly regained his footing, and wordlessly followed the King outside, his once beautiful and translucent blue eyes now horrible, frozen blue orbs that nonetheless blazed with the tenor matching that of a world-weary old man all too numb to evil.
It didn't take but a moment for the pathetic king to stop, double back, and scoop up Danny in his arms, who was wriggling into them, smiling merrily again.
Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te, Israel.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.