Ballet of Kings and Dolls
Author's Notes: Wow, sorry for the delay. My laptop died among other things. I got a new one though so hurray! This chapter is the longest so far. I decided you guys deserved more! Thank you so much to everyone. I won't post a response to reviewers here because, honestly, I couldn't tell who I had sent a response back to but I'll start again from the next chapter. Thanks to EACH of you. You guys nudge me to get my butt into writing. You're awesome for that.
Warnings:
A lot: mild incest, violence, sexual scenes, and just all around disturbing stuff.
And, as always, sorry for any erros. I go back and patch it up if I notice it later
-x-X-x-...Rape Me...-x-X-x-
Fake Yuri groaned and stumbled back.
Like a feline, Wolfram leapt to his feet and raised his fist again. "I'll punch you where it'll hurt more if you try to kiss me again! Who are you?"
Hearing the commotion, Yuri glanced over his shoulder. He paled and froze in disbelief at seeing himself straightening. Well, it was The Demon King of himself. Daring to break his gaze from the imposter, he found Wolfram wielding his fists like weapons.
"Answer me!" Wolfram demanded through a sneer.
A sick chuckle poured over Fake Yuri's lips. He didn't speak but kept his dark eyes narrowed on Wolfram, like a vulture. He plunged forward.
Wolfram cried out and dodged by leaping to the left. Fake Yuri had a grip on his ankle and he crashed harder than expected on the grass. He bellowed in pain, clutching his side where the it flamed from the impact.
"Wolfram!" Yuri yelled and rushed forward, but was, too, jerked by a forceful hold on his wrist. He snapped his head around.
And saw Wolfram.
Or, what looked like Wolfram—in his blue uniform.
"Wolfram," Yuri breathed, staring at the inane oceanic eyes. "You're…"
Fake Wolfram purred and chuckled madly, jerking Yuri forward.
"No!" Yuri screamed and struggled, wiggling from the grip quickly. Whether Wolfram had hidden strength or Fake Wolfram was uniquely endowed with it, Yuri found himself stuck between the boy's body and the grass. "Let go!"
A foreigner's kiss prickled Yuri's lips. The lips nibbled at his neck and greedy hands squeezed along Yuri's hips, trying to coax his response. "Yuri," the stranger whimpered, using the same tone typical of Wolfram. Even Yuri couldn't suppress the shudder.
"Stop!" he begged in a pant, tensing hard when his hands were forcibly yanked to cup Fake Wolfram's rear end. Taught muscle rocked into Yuri's palm. The act served as a perfect distraction for Yuri's mental processes. He shut down and stared up as those hungry lips parted, moaning out his name again, body grinding invitingly onto Yuri.
"Your Highness!"
The weight vanished from above him, his hands empty and arms jerked on. A familiar smell alerted Yuri that Conrad was clinging to him. On the ground where he had been pinned, Fake Wolfram sat on his well sculpted rear end, face lax but smile scrolling down into a dark smirk.
Lord Varick had his weapon aimed beneath the imposter's neck. Still, the man seemed occupied studying the Fake Wolfram before the blade was raised and snapped down.
"Wait, no!" Yuri shouted, struggling in Conrad's grip. It was too late; the blade sliced down and tore the skin of Fake Wolfram before the imposter's eyes rolled into his head. The body collapsed forward and where blood should have erupted, cotton puffed out.
Lord Varick stepped aside and toed the decapitated head, noting how Fake Wolfram's eye sockets became void. "A doll," he explained.
The thought that it may have not been crossed Yuri's mind. He had the wit to pick at the argument with Varick but the man had proven more useful than anyone else in their situation. Yuri swallowed at the doll's corpse and hoped the flush of color in his face (and loins) would fade soon. He shifted against Conrad and guarded his lower half just in case anyway.
It was then Lord Varick chimed in, "Where's Wolfram?"
On cue, a frustrated cry leapt over a tall line of brush. Yuri kicked himself for his lack of awareness and bolted around the area. "Wolfram!" he called out questioningly, skidding to a halt. If the color in his face hadn't left, he was sure it did now. He paled at the sight.
Wolfram smashed his palm into Fake Yuri's face, wiggling from his cramped position against a lean statue. His legs had been forced to clasp around the imposter's hips and there was no mistaking the invader's intentions.
Disregarding prudency, Yuri charged forward and hollered as he tackled his fake self into the ground. Fake Yuri growled and hissed, both of their bodies colliding more painfully on the ground than Yuri had intended. The real Yuri was quick to scramble away to get a better handle on his position. Luckily, he didn't see a weapon on the intruder's body.
"Jealous?" Fake Yuri cooed through a mean laugh, jumping to his feet. "Or are you just bitter that I have the courage to do what you can't?"
Riled up would be an inappropriate term to describe the fuel that shot through Yuri's nerves. His face scrunched up in subtle warning before Yuri tackled his fakes self again, forcing the intruder to occupy Yuri and allow Wolfram a chance to escape.
"Yuri!" Wolfram wheezed and pushed himself up from where he fell. Needles jabbed at his wounded side and it took him all his will to repress grimacing. He staggered over but collapsed to his knees again, air knocked out of him. "Damn it."
He looked up in time to see Conrad do what he had failed to. The man barely grunted as he yanked hard on Fake Yuri's long hair. Unfortunately, the grip turned fatal when a resounding 'RIIIIP' made them stare in wonder.
The intruder's head dangled limply in Conrad's hold.
Yuri blinked and tore the headless corpse off of him, screaming in surprise. "You ripped it off!" he said accusingly, pointing at the head.
"I…" Conrad trailed off, captivated by the object in his hand. Had his hold really been so powerful? He dropped the head with a frown, watching cotton seep out from its torn skin.
"Better it be decapitated," Varick interjected. He knelt beside Wolfram and assisted the reluctant blonde up. "We should keep moving. There may be more of them."
Wolfram stood with assistance but disarmed himself of Varick soon after, making his way to Yuri. The double black was breathing heavily but studying him with a concerned expression. "You're not hurt, Yuri?" he asked, eyeing his fiancé.
Too quickly, Yuri shook his head and closed the lid of recent memories. It proved harder than he had hoped to ignore Wolfram's lips, the similar almost identical lips that had moaned his name and silently begged to be…
"I'm fine," Yuri half-squeaked. "What about you? I…He…He didn't?"
Hit with a blush, Wolfram frowned and stammered back, "O-Of course not! It's just a doll! He didn't…"
Their arguing clashed but soon trailed off, both left studying the floor. Varick killed it easily by reinstating, "We need to move."
Conrad lightly touched his godson's shoulder and guided him forward. "He's right. We need to find a way out."
"What…were those?" Yuri touched his own neck and checked his skin. Luckily, he didn't find any thread to pull or traces of stitches.
With an ushered gesture, Varick humored the double black. "They're trying to pry us apart and, maybe, set us against each other. We're sticking together from now on. No excuses."
Still caught up in an adrenaline daze, the two boys reluctantly treaded along, casting memories aside to be reevaluated when the time allowed for it. Conrad took the liberty of speaking on their behalf, "The dolls are part of the game?"
"I'm sure they're not for decoration," Varick stated. "The ones we saw are temporary…dolls. They're not particularly harmful."
"Aren't you a doll?" Wolfram reminded bitterly though his voice came as a rasp. He craved crisp, cold water.
Varick didn't blink. "Yes."
"You still won't tell us more?" Yuri partially begged, lifting his head to study the man's posture.
Varick's lips opened and closed a few times. "No."
Wolfram cursed and fisted his hands. "I can't stand riddles," he said, shaking his head. He regretted it the second after as the world spun to the left. His feet trampled over the other, pitching him hard.
Quick but gentle, Conrad steadied Wolfram with one hand. "You shouldn't walk, Wolfram," he insisted.
Before Wolfram could protest—or before Yuri could agree with the brunette—Conrad was already kneeling in front of the blonde, back arched and ready. The blonde blinked, partly to make the blurred world steady.
"Get on," Conrad ordered, providing his softest smile.
The look Wolfram shot him was anything but willing. Yuri sighed and got the nerve to hold Wolfram's arm carefully. "Wolfram," he pleaded, "we have to keep moving but you're obviously not recovered completely. F-For me?"
It took a few seconds longer than expected but the blonde brushed off Yuri's hand with a snort and shyly crept onto Conrafd's back, clinging to the man's neck as he was scooped up. Conrad clasped his hands together and snuggly fit them against Wolfram's thighs. They pushed forward without another utterance.
Varick took the lead, pausing cautiously at intersections. With the potential for other dolls to pop up, the man took precaution. Luckily, the closest thing to a hindrance they had was when they found themselves circling a particular area thrice. But, after a brief contemplation, Varick had them led out onto a new path.
There, they saw the enormous playhouse attached to the castle's east side.
"What the hell," Varick muttered, resting both hands on his hips. The playhouse was strangely familiar and he wondered if he'd seen it before.
"It's Greta's!" Yuri gasped, realizing his daughter's small toy was now an expansion pact on the castle. The sight of it made his heart flip. He prayed she was indeed safe and soothed of any fears.
Wolfram shared the sentiment, his arms unconsciously tightening. "We have to go in here?"
Varick looked back at him and replied, "Yes. Though what's inside, I'm not sure. But once we get through, we should find a way back into the mansion and, hopefully, meet the others."
Without much options, the group pressed through the end of the garden and approached the large door. With a gesture, Varick had the group stay a safe distance away as he opened the door. "This way," he assured after sneaking a glance inside.
"I have a bad feeling," Wolfram mumbled into Conrad's shoulder, feeling his weight triple. He blamed it on the fact that Conrad's back had served more comfortably than one would think.
Conrad only squeezed his brother's legs in acknowledgment, bringing a new blush to Wolfram's face. Their position tickled past memories of piggy-back rides through the gardens (without the drama of obsessed dolls) and Wolfram realized he'd gratefully accept that day over this one.
At his side, Yuri was watching him, hand caught in mid air as if he had made to touch Wolfram. The blonde noticed it and stared questioningly. Without giving much thought into the action, Wolfram lowered one arm and wrapped his fingers around Yuri's hand.
Yuri stiffened but didn't retract from the surprise. He nodded shakily and returned the grip. "We're almost there," he whispered, suspecting Conrad would still be able to hear them.
The former Prince nodded, a bit tiredly, and returned his arm around Conrad. "Of course," he said in his best effort to sound dignified. "We have a wedding to plan. This isn't going to stop that."
Conrad chuckled gently, relieved at the comment. He shifted Wolfram once and finally entered after Yuri followed Varick. Inside, Greta's playhouse pieces were situated the way she had left them—Wolfram remembered as he had been the last one to play with it beside her. Greta had a quirk about making the dining table half lengthwise in the dining room space.
Curious, Yuri approached the table and tapped on it lightly. His hand wrapped around an edge and he lifted it. "Oh my gosh!"
Lord Varick stepped up and lightly yanked the table into his own palm. "It's lightweight," he confirmed, bouncing the furniture a couple times for good measure before setting it down.
"Like the real playhouse." Wolfram peeked over the batch of brown hair. To their right, a very welcoming couch with choice of two throw pillows taunted him. "Put me down."
Conrad understood and backed up to the desired spot. Carefully, he unlatched his fingers and let Wolfram slide off. "Is it comfortable?" the man asked curiously, crouching to tap the couch. It. Having expected plastic, Conrad was pleasantly surprised at how soft it was. "Oh."
"It feels light though," Wolfram muttered, shifting slowly. He worried his weight might cause it to collapse.
He wasn't expecting a response but he had hoped someone would stretch out the conversation as thin as it would go—anything to keep the silence from filtering back. Varick lowered the table but had retreated into his own thoughts while Yuri continued to steal shy, furtive glances at Wolfram.
"Maybe there's food in here," Conrad finally said, relinquishing his voice to the silent room, "I'll check the kitchen."
"Don't."
Varick turned on his heels and faced the dark corridor that served as the hallway ahead of them. A soft padding of sounds answered Conrad's question before he had even asked it. One by one, the lights pressed against the hallway flicked on, casting a shadow first, and then exposing a small and dainty form.
"Another one," Yuri shuddered at the sight of the porcelain face, tweaked with a cryptic smile and eye balls colored in blue.
She rested her hands on her dress, curled them, and lifted the hem of her white dress. Her curtsy went unappreciated but elicited a different response. Varick's blade was whipped out again and poised above her bowed head.
"Killing me will trap you in this house, Lord Varick," she warned in a sweet tone. It lacked the malice and instability that Wolfram had been expecting.
Varick didn't lower his weapon but neither did he slice her in two. He did, however, bop her atop the head with the flat surface. She snapped her neck up quickly enough to make Yuri and Wolfram cringe, anticipating her head would roll off from the violent act.
The doll straightened again and Wolfram angled his vision to see her not even reaching Lord Varcik's knees (though he was rather tall overall). Two ribbons held her hair back in an intricate braid and with the little hair around her face, her broadened smile was that much more noticeable.
"Why don't you have a seat, Lord Varick?" she suggested, twisting one of her fingers in a circular motion in the air.
In four seconds flat, Lord Varick was disarmed by an invisible force and his limbs snatched by the same ominous presence that would slam him again a dining room chair. His grunts proved the man was struggling but beyond that, he was stiff and stuck.
"Lord Varick!" Yuri reached for the man but was, too, jerked into a dining room chair.
The violent act drew out hoarse cries from the brothers. They both hauled tail toward Yuri until they felt the invisible strings coil around their body and forced them to sit as well. At this point, all four of them sat around the dining room table as if waiting for a meal to be brought out.
"What…!" Conrad jerked at his fingers, hoping to draw out his sword. A force snagged it free and tossed it at the doll's feet.
She stepped over the object and smiled delightfully. "Now we can all play together."
"Play?" Yuri said, unsure. While his hold wasn't exactly painful, whenever he'd try to shift, the wires controlling him almost bit into his skin. "What is this?"
The doll disregarded him and pointed to Conrad. "You're going to be the Daddy, alright? And you," she turned and aimed a glossy finger at Wolfram, "the Mommy."
"Mommy?" Wolfram gawked. He was certainly no woman and not exactly comfortable being paired up with anyone other than Yuri, let alone his own half-brother. "This is not play time! Release us at once!"
With an undignified yelp, Yuri was kicked out of his seat and tugged along against his own volition to the kitchen. "You're the butler!" the doll said as he trailed into the kitchen. "And you…"
Varick tensed visibly. With a wave of the doll's hand, he was ripped from his seat and pinned to the wall, arms above his head. His words lodged in his throat as he sank into the wall, bit by bit, until it swallowed part of the back of his legs and arms, and curled around his sides.
"You're a decoration," she said with a satisfied nod. With a little dance to her steps, she crawled awkwardly into a seat between Conrad and Wolfram. "We're having soup tonight!"
Wolfram growled loudly. "What kind of game is this? Aren't we given a chance to win? We're trap! Are you dolls so disho-"
"Mommy needs to be quiet, please."
"How dare you! Is that how you would speak to your mother?" Wolfram barked, thrashing in his restraints. Well, it was more of him waddling in his seat than anything else.
The doll's expression drained the lighthearted smile and amused eyes. New emotions painted her face darkly, and none of them were very good. At one point, the brothers thought they even saw sadness drape over her.
But Wolfram didn't let up. "Miss Maiden!" he snapped, trying to kick his legs free. "Where are you? I'm done with your game! Let me out! Let me go! LET ME G-Mmph…!"
Nothing short of horror made Wolfram gasp and Varick gape at what happened. The invisible strings playing them had jerked Conrad forward and smack-dab into Wolfram's face with what, dreadfully, was a sloppy kiss. It was forced, lips smushed against lips, with both parties terrified to gasp out a protest—save for Wolfram's initial reaction.
Blood stained Wolfram's skin with a fuming and humiliated blush. Conrad shared the latter expression and his eyes collected what sympathy he could in the awkward position. His hands were forced to grip the back of Wolfram's chair and the table, half pinning the blonde to his seat.
I'm going to kill her!
Wolfram muffled his words against Conrad's lips, feeling the words try to escape from him and be shouted, shrieked even until he found the energy to burn everything to the dirt. Sweet revenge never came though as he Conrad's strings were tugged back to break their contact.
"W-" The man had tried to speak instantly but was roughly shoved back into the seat. He groaned and granted the doll a nasty look—one he had reserved for such opponents worthy of it.
"I'll kill you!" Wolfram bellowed, wiggling again, eyes wildly on the doll.
She giggled and hid her face behind small hands. "Daddy kissed Mommy but Mommy keeps talking!"
Varick jumped in before Wolfram could prompt the doll into further action. "What's the game?" he ordered threateningly.
The giggles ebbed and she looked back at Varick. She was clearly annoyed. "We play House."
And House they played. Yuri, oblivious to what had transpired, returned stiffly with a quaint meal. Only his flicking eyes suggested he was in any discomfort. Their voices finally lost themselves to the strings that tackled their vocal chords once the soup had been forced down the brothers' throats. The two could only assume Yuri had been forced to do the same as the double black didn't speak beyond a polite albeit forced butlerly comment. Varick, while neglected of the torture, kept his own tongue in check and studied the scene unfold.
Dinner conversation orbited around the doll. She was praised by both "parents" reluctantly and doted on with Wolfram's fingertips and Conrad's firm voice. Beaming wouldn't adequately capture her childish delight or do justice to her bounce when dinner was over. Yuri, forced to remain still, watched with a sinking gut how Conrad rested a hand on Wolfram's back in a mocking gesture of love.
Woflram! Conrad!
Behind him, Varick narrowed his eyes at the doll. "Your Highness," he whispered. "This will turn bad."
Yuri flicked his eyes to the man, hoping the act could be noted by the wall ornament. It seemed to do the trick because Varick continued in a low utterance, "This doll, I recall her. She's going-"
With another yank, Yuri moved forward unwillingly, breaking the distance that allowed him to hear Varick's words. He screamed in frustration but his lips were forced to coil as he bowed before the doll and retreated to the hallway. He was taken to one of the rooms—one he realized which was far less extravagant than the master bedroom.
Back in the living area, the doll spent a half hour chatting to her "parents" about the friends she made at her private school. Wolfram and Conrad nodded proudly and engaged back but their eyes continuously surveyed the area in the hopes of reading any signs for escape. They found none and Wolfram wouldn't dare meet his brother's gaze for any hints of one.
Finally, the doll began rubbing her eyes and raised her arms up. Conrad lifted her and had her tucked into one arm while the other ushered Wolfram down the hall. Briefly, they caught Yuri sitting obediently on the bed of the neighboring door. All they shared was a desperate and fleeting glance before they had entered the doll's room. It was Greta's personal favorite as she had spiced it up with all things pretty and flower-like to suit a little girl's dream room.
With a final kiss to the doll's forehead from each parent, Wolfram found himself forced into the master bedroom, where he laid out on his back. The bed was light feeling yet cushioned his body comfortably, draped in a silky blanket that the blonde recognized had been part of one of his formal uniforms; it had a tear from an assignment one day and rather than discard it, he had offered it to an eager Great to makeshift it into a plush and use for her playhouse.
His heart hurt and he wished he had the luxury of rubbing his chest. Conrad stayed at the doorway and said—in a strangely loud voice—that he was going to head out to the Victorian ball that Doctor WhatWasHisName had prepared for the night. Wolfram cringed as his head nodded without his approval. Conrad's shadow vanished and he heard the front door open and close.
He was left alone.
What to do now? Is Yuri forced to sit there? Is Lord Varick alright? And Conrad…Oh, I'm going to rip that doll's head off and smash it into a wall!
Huffing was the best Wolfram could do. He tested out the strings again and felt them nip at his skin when he tried to wiggle out. The injury to his side proved enough of a nuisance and, even if he could, escaping from the strings would abandon him limb-less. He decided to contemplate his options and tuck his thirst for vengeance into a pocket.
Only minutes must have passed when the blonde caught the distinct sounds of footsteps approaching. If there was one thing he still had control over, it was his military senses born from training. The ability to distinguish sounds had, once again, proved handy. Well, it would have could he have done something about the fact that it was Yuri forced into the room's doorway.
"Y-Y…" Wolfram gagged on his own tongue, cursing internally when he was denied speech. Instead, he was obligated to say with inflection, "Warren?"
Yuri's eyes softened in understanding, hoping it would be enough to quell Wolfram's concern. "Georgia."
Wolfram felt more insulted that it was Yuri's voice calling him by a woman's name. Jerked to sit up, the blonde stared at his fiancé. The boy had just shut the door partly, leaving it carelessly ajar. "I didn't call you over," his voice said.
"You didn't have to," Yuri—or rather, Warren—was saying in the King's voice.
Were they taking the rolls of familiar characters from a novel? While there was no invading spirit in them, they might as well have been possessed for the next moment was washed out in a violent act. Yuri had crossed the room (still stiffly though as the boy resisted) and curled his fingers roughly into Wolfram's shoulders, forcing them down as his body leapt on the blonde's in a straddling motion.
Air knocked out of Wolfram and he managed to wince at the pressure Yuri's knee had against his side. "What are you doing?" he cried out too soon for Wolfram's liking—he had barely caught his breath. The cry was forced but Wolfram shared its sentiment.
"I see the looks you offer me when your husband's attention wanders from yours. He's a fool to ever give anyone the privilege to cast eyes upon you. I'd never squander a moment with you by taking my eyes off of you like he does!" Yuri panicked in his mind, flicking his eyes around again. They settled back down on the blonde, whose expression borderlined fear.
He couldn't decipher if the countenance was forced but Yuri had the sickening suspicion that it wasn't. His fingers had curled harder into Wolfram's shoulder once more before his right hand shabbily tore the front of Wolfram's garment.
Georgia's protests jumped off Wolfram's lips as Yuri's familiar lips spread over his neck, nipping hungrily at the flesh. Wolfram's voice choked on itself, unsure though if it was a result of his own internal anguish or the slip up of those controlling the strings. The King's tongue dipped into a weak spot and lapped at it with the tip of the organ. It curled and traced loving patterns through heated pants while Yuri's hands brushed under the ripped outfit.
The left one found a sensitive patch and two fingers rolled around the tiny nub until it forced a delicious noise from the trembling voice. Wolfram stared at the ceiling in sheer terror and bemusement, only given the mercy to cling onto Yuri's back. They shifted soon though as Yuri's lips caught his own, his own fingers rushing under Yuri's clothing to feel the growing muscles beneath the taught skin. For the briefest sane second, Wolfram noted how strong Yuri's body had become from the year plus of training.
The sudden thought that this body would force its way further on him struck more dead butterflies into his stomach.
Yuri…! Yuri! Not like this…!
The blonde's body responded hungrily, driven by the puppet master's doing and the primal lust capped away by most rational men. It faltered as his tongue was painfully lurched forward from where it coiled away from Yuri's in the hopes to help the double black gain his (and Wolfram's own) senses. The string had their tongues wrapped around each other, bumping noisily and sucking on each other's even louder.
Almost tenderly, Wolfram felt Yuri's fingers drop from his chest to his (surprisingly) exposed thighs. Yuri's hips lowered until their groins rested against one another's snuggly and both gasped willingly in the heated kiss—recognizing the reluctant hardening of both their members.
"A-Ah," Wolfram tried to speak into Yuri's mouth, drowning in the warm hands that greedily raked up his thighs and gave his rear end a tempting squeeze. The same hand cupped him and rolled their hips together until their erections were sliding impatiently along each other's.
Even as Yuri found defeat in the daze, even as he pressed against the window of his eyes, he still felt the flushed euphoria stabbing at him from all directions; his back where Wolfram's nails drew lines, his hair that Wolfram tugged, and his becoming naked hips from where Wolfram's calves rubbed against them. In the disgusted confines of his actions, Yuri bawled inside at how aroused his body had become.
I'm so sorry, Wolfram…
With Wolfram's unwilling assistance, his pants had been stripped, leaving only a thin line of a fabric as a barrier to their hardened lengths. Wolfram tipped his head back with a heavy purr and his body arched into Yuri's as the double black dropped his unquenched lips onto his chest, sucking in a nipple, letting the surface of his tongue roll over it and lips tug on it playfully.
Wolfram moaned and then sharply cried out, shuddering hard. He knew the tingles in his spine that made him jolt weren't any doing of the puppet master. Through a possessive growl that Yuri unleashed, Wolfram dared himself to look at the patch of black hair signaling where Yuri's head was. It may have been his own mind pushing the strings, but his fingers rose and threaded through the soft hair, jerking on it to pry the boy off slightly.
Through a much needed intake of air, Yuri rasped and stared at Wolfram's helpless face. He met the gaze and poured his sorrow into his eyes. When he thought he'd meet Wolfram's repulsed fury, the blonde had returned a similar (gently coaxing?) look.
"W…Wo-" Yuri stammered, his heart escaping into his throat. His eyes were growing heavy and the rage that could only be calmed by an explosion of force known as The Demon King finally reached his brain.
Wolfram's face flashed to the side as the door creaked open, shedding in too much light into the room. Flinching from it, Wolfram tired to peer away. He was kept still until he saw the tiny doll's form stepping out from behind Conrad's.
Oh…no…
"Mommy," the doll whispered, her voice still trailing into the room like a breaking echo. "You promised. You promised you'd stop the first time. I saw you in the kitchen with him. I saw you kiss. You said it was an accident."
The butterflies piled up into Wolfram's chest by now as the hypnotic words were repeated like a record player needing fixing. Conrad didn't fair much better, his body chugged forward and expression genuinely confused at the position he found the two boys.
"G-Georgia," the brunette said brokenly thanks to Conrad's relentless resistance.
Yuri stayed hunched over Wolfram's half naked form, his long hair tickling Wolfram's exposed and marked neck. A compelled shout of rage exploded from Conrad and his hand snatched out an item from the drawer—one that wasn't a part of Greta's original collection; a gun.
Even Wolfram didn't have the speed to outshout a bullet's launch. It tore through the barrel and aimed directly at the boy. Coils tore from the double black's body and propelled the onslaught into a nearby wall, the sound ricocheting loudly and grating Wolfram's already fried nerves.
The Demon King rose his head slowly, with extraneous effort. Twitching, streaks of blood popped loose as the strings that bound him snapped loose, one by agonizingly one, until his arm had raised high enough. Dragons screeched to life as they ripped out from his fingertips and swallowed up what restraints held him still while one crashed the gun from Conrad's hand.
Conrad obliged forward, body tackling into The King's, to his brutal amazement. Having openly assaulted his own King branded a painful memory already into the soldier's mind as he found himself in a wrestling match with The Demon King, whose own strength suffered from a drought. His eyes flickered between the serpent-like slits and Yuri's wide eyed expression, hair flickering between short and long, and strength surpassing the baseball lover's only in rare peaks of The Demon King's display.
I'm…so weak, Yuri heard his other self growl inside. He felt it too; his body was zapped of energy and his mind abused from the trauma of what had just transpired. Now, he stared down in dismay at the trusted and breaking face of his godfather.
"C-Con…rad," he was managing to say with what flourishing spike of power he was granted by his other self. "I…I…"
On the bed, held down by the omnipotent powers of the doll, Wolfram heard the struggles and the murmuring of the doll. She had taken two steps in to study the gun that had been blown away. "Daddy is upset," she whimpered to Wolfram, "he kills Warren, hurts Mommy, and then when he sees me watching…"
Wolfram shut his eyes tightly, knowing the act was childish and wouldn't grant him the pleasure of going deaf. He tugged at the restraints on his wrist, hoping if he could at least release the hold there, he'd have a chance. Nothing came though from his tugging, his body beyond depleted of energy. He was nothing more than a rag doll.
He wanted to scream again.
Yuri cried out hoarsely as his back crushed into the wall, remnants of The Demon King expired. His body collapsed to the side and he lay there, limp. Though he was conscious, his eyes merely fluttered open and closed, reality slipping further and further from him.
What…Am I going to do?
He was unsure if he saw Conrad crawling on the bed where Wolfram remained. He wasn't sure if the horrified yelp had come from the blonde since his own blood was gushing into his ears and making it difficult to distinguish one sound from another.
The sound, however, had come from Wolfram. It had actually been a stifled pained howl because Conrad's large hand had lodged itself around Wolfram's windpipe and had no intention of releasing anytime soon. The blonde's arms were dragged to cling on the powerful arm, his eyes staring up at Conrad but he lacked the much needed energy to spare anything more than a glazed look.
Conrart…You look so sad. It was the only other thing besides Wolfram's concern for Yuri that the former Prince could muster.
The man looked miserable in fact. His face was contorted, body tense and yet twitching with what willpower the brunette stirred up. His body was pressed between Wolfram's thighs and the other hand poised to rip off the remainder of Wolfram's clothing.
But the tearing never came. Tiredly, Wolfram studied those kind eyes shut tightly and the hand around his clothing began to move.
No…!
It slowly began to lift, releasing Wolfram's garment and the same snaps that had pricked Yuri's skin to bleed bit at Conrad. The man's fist trembled, almost snapping back down with the force of a particularly painful yank but Conrad only hollered and jerked back just as hard. His skin exploded and blood gushed into his uniform from where the strings broke against his skin.
"Con…"
The man's eyes opened and a fierce determined albeit gentle had his eyes crinkling. His lips parted and he coughed violently, gagging as blood seeped from his mouth and then across his entire body as he amazingly, violently, and stupidly wrenched away from Wolfram in one successful move.
Conrad staggered and collapsed onto the floor hard, spewing up blood, one hand shakily pressing into his neck to put pressure on the most severe wounds. Before him, two tiny and polished shoes met him. The doll stared down in wonder at the man now sprawled in agony on the dark carpet.
"Daddy," she questioned, stepping back fearfully.
Foolish as he already was, Conrad shot his free hand and had his bloody fingers around a thin ankle. The doll shrieked in horror and clawed at her shiny face.
"Let go!" she bawled and screamed as she was yanked to fall on the ground. Her temple nipped the carpet hard enough to crack her beautiful skin and she thrashed violently at the impact. Visible wires erupted from her broken skin and snagged around Conrad's arm, tugging bit by bit.
The man screamed as the strings tugged until the sickening pop of his shoulder dislocating broke his shouting in two. He let out an uneasy exhale, narrowed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the strings. Fire burned his arm from the simple act and he bit his already wounded tongue to stifle another yell of agony.
"Lord Weller! Lord Weller, let go!"
Knowing the voice, Conrad obeyed and dropped his forehead to the carpet in exhaustion. Lord Varick cut loose the string and earned the room another yell from the doll as her wires convulsed madly at the abuse. "I'm sorry it took so long," was all Varick offered before he was whirling around and snapping the wires that made to strike at them again. "Stupid girl!"
The doll roared and slammed her hands onto the carpet. "I'll kill you all! Look what you did to my Mommy! You're all going to die! You're going to die for taking away my revenge!"
"Not likely," Varick returned smoothly, cracking his left fingers back into place and then his neck. Wolfram heard the sounds and was internally grateful he didn't have to see what the man was doing to produce the terrible noises.
"You!" The doll flared up at the Lord's presence. "You stupid, unwanted, piece of trash! I should have ripped you apart the first time we met!"
Lord Varick skipped to the side and drove his blade into her leg, severing it off. Her scream died in a nauseous gag as the splintering of her body left her with only a gaping hole and blood. It had just touched the carpet when Lord Varick drew back his sword and plunged it into her shoulder, pinning her to the ground.
"I'll grant you a sure death," he said quietly to her.
The doll stumbled over her own choking sobs and shook her head wildly. Her hair came loose and one hand rubbed furiously at her face. "No! I don't want to die!" she blubbered, "Save me! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
Wolfram opened his eyes feebly and dropped his head to the side, watching the doll meet his stare. She was painted pure, unadulterated terror. The strings were trying to move his body weakly in hopes to pull him toward the doll.
"W…Wait…"
Yuri croaked and heard Conrad gasp his name. The King was shuddering on all fours, grappling to make his way toward the doll but he collapsed twice before the brunette was at his side already.
"Your Highness!" Conrad's voice was barely a wheeze.
"V-Varick," Yuri insisted, gently brushing Conrad's hand away. He gathered up on all fours again. "You…Were saying…you knew her…"
Lord Varick hesitated and opted to stay looming over the doll in the event she break free again. "Yes," he admitted, "I saw this coming. When you were forced to leave my side I had to dislocate my body to squeeze out as I knew…"
Wolfram wished he could call Yuri's name. He could only observe as his fiancé shockingly dragged himself, despite Conrad's protests, to the broken porcelain on the carpet.
"You're…alive," Yuri said in a murmur, eyes heavy and heart hammering. He hurried to lightly rest a hand on her dark hair, knowing he could pass out on the spot. "You…had a life?"
The doll sniffed and wept quietly but eventually, she nodded. Again, she rubbed at her eyes.
"You saw something bad and were hurt," Yuri assumed, chuckling. It was so weak that it came out as a shaky breath. "You didn't do anything wrong. I bet you tried to help your Mommy, h-huh?"
"…Mommy."
Yuri shut his eyes a moment to regain himself. Slowly, he returned her a sweet look as he stroked through her tangled hair, mindful not to spill more blood on her. "It's okay, n-now, really…"
The doll stared up in wonder, taken aback by the uncalculated tenderness. Her expression shifted again, scribbled over with something guilty, fearful, and lonely. Yuri allowed her time to collect her thoughts as he hovered his hand over her hurt leg. He winced when his healing abilities came as a sharp prick to his hand; he was too weak.
Again, he looked back at the doll and smiled. "S-Sorry. I guess there's not much left in me right now," he apologized, resting a hand back on her hair.
Her lower lip jutted out and she reached up. Knowingly, Yuri lowered his hand to her and squeezed it. Wires shred loose from her broken skin, leaving Yuri to cry out in fright as they shot at his face. A guttural cry, and a throaty gasp later, Yuri realized he never would be hit. The wires fluttered lifelessly to the floor, draping over the doll's dead eyes.
Before the others could recalculate the process, Lord Varick drew out his weapon from where it had snapped her chest in two. He didn't bother to wipe the blade clean and he sheathed it. Hard eyes met Yuri and he shook his head: there was no other option.
Yuri dropped his head and gasped quietly, feeling tears trickling. He glanced over his shoulder and said, "I thought…I could…"
His eyes were on Wolfram, whose own eyes remained on Wolfram even as Lord Varick assited him by bringing him a robe, conveniently, found in the second drawer. "Yuri," the blonde finally could say, and with the man's aid, staggered to his beloved.
The double black, Wolfram, and Conrad had made a circle in how they sat around each other, beside the doll's corpse. Emotions swept through them, not all which could be identified. Yuri was the first to express them all in one single motion: he snatched both of their neck and drew them into a tenacious hug.
Wolfram shut his eyes tightly and shakily wrapped both his arms around Yuri's partially bared body—the boy only had his boxers and top on still. Conrad gripped his godson with one arm and hesitated in touching Wolfram but instinct overwhelmed him. His other, blood soaked arm curled around Wolfram's shoulders. The blonde tensed then it fell quickly but whether it was from sheer exhaustion or understanding, Conrad hadn't the time or mental energy to decide.
Aside, Lord Varick exhaled and stepped out of the room to allow the three a moment to piece back together enough sanity to let them move forward. Ahead, down the hall, he could see a door opening in reward for the efforts.
"Wonderful," the human doll drawled, stepping forward to study the house more thoroughly. He almost jumped when he saw a passing mirror reflect something that was not his reflection.
Miss Maiden smiled very slowly.
Lord Varick narrowed his eyes in disgust. "I don't know whether to punch you in the face or vomit on the mirror."
"You can't vomit," Miss Maiden replied knowingly.
Lord Varick's eyebrow quirked up. "Enjoying the show?"
"No but I can pretend to if you want."
"Don't lie. You're nothing but filth."
Miss Maiden didn't flinch. "The war is almost engaging outside the walls. Then, when they're busy, we make our move."
Looking to the side, Lord Varick lowered his voice. "I want nothing more to do with this game."
"You'll lose your chance at a body if you forfeit."
Lord Varick glared at the doll. "He told you about that?"
Miss Maiden nearly jumped out of the mirror with interest. "I am his favorite, after all."
"Actually, you're not," Lord Varick let the words fall heavily on the doll. It worked; her painted face faded back into something dark and enigmatic.
"I'll make note of your interference in this game. You weren't supposed to help them that much, only guide my Prince."
Lord Varick faced the mirror fully. "I've decided."
The beautiful doll tilted her head in a curious way.
"I'll settle for the former."
Lord Varick smashed his fist into the mirror.
-x-X-x-...TBC?...-x-X-x-
And it will be clarified later on, but yes, the doll had a past life as a human (supposedly). That is what Yuri and Varick were referring to. No one was possessed by a spirit, only by the doll's "strings. She made them take the roles of her mother, father, and the family butler to relive a traumatic event she had as a child (human perhaps?) that left her with a thirst for justice. Or, she's just really messed up and is stuck in her head reliving that terrible, fateful night.
What did you think? *hides and pokes head out* Nudge me to keep going? Nudge me to see a psychiatrist?
Many hugs,
Mirai Kurosaki