A/N: So, funny story, I intended for a fluffy fic… a little bit of cutesy going on… buuuuuuut, ya got this instead. I do not quite understand it myself. Guess I am in a dark place right now. –shrugs- I fully intend to redo this scenario and make it more cute… at least, less dark and sad and sort of creepy.
Fun images though… hopefully.
Warning: Awesome-O says that this is GAY. Full of GAY. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I… I gots nothing. Really. Nothing. Sorry.
Summary: Challenge fic. 25 Random Words. The rules? Just use the word in a scene about the pairing. Chapter 18: Payment.
Remember:
"Blah" – Speech
Blah –Thoughts/Emphasis
Blah – Self Explanatory
18. Payment
Fire and brimstone leapt forth through the jutting fissures of the remnants that was South Park's main street. The smell of smoldering flesh rolled off the very brick and mortar buildings as if it was shedding skin like the rest of the populace. 'Going to hell in a hand basket' was quite an apt phrase these days… the days of the End Times.
Several years ago, a man rose to power, decimating several countries in one fell swoop. His name was Damien Thorne. Since he had seen the face plastered on CNN, smirking in a most mysteriously unsettling way, Shadow had known who he was. It was hard to forget the Anti-Christ. If the goth was a braver man, he would have shuddered and locked himself in a church until the Second Coming. Alas, Shadow didn't care so much about redemption.
He had other fantasies.
Standing in the rubble of his hometown—it had been years since he left on his quest—he peered down into a hole that sprang forth when the Gates of Hell was released. Technically, this is the second time for South Park to come face to face with the underworld. Shadow had always figured there must have been some kind of demonic layline, but he never found evidence to back up this theory.
The hole belched an acidic air, as well as screams, and Shadow found it vaguely horrifying as the ash under his boots crumbled down, down, down below. Through the haze, he could see no discernable faces, but figured people he once called friend or family was down there, waiting for him now.
"Feeling remorse, Georgie?" a monotone voice questioned. A scowl flashed across Shadow's face as he turned around to the person—the son of the devil—standing undetectable behind him.
"My name is Shadow," he snarled. Damien shrugged, lounging on a throne of macabre carcasses and fiendish smoke that was not there before. Placed atop curved onyx horns was the enflamed crown of human bones. It was a grisly sight, but also, a strange relief to Shadow.
"Georgie, Shadow—Call yourself what you will," the Anti-Christ growled softly, almost fond in a mocking sort of way, "I still call you servant."
"Whatever…" Shadow muttered. He moved away from the hole, although the shrieks of agony and wails of misery never faded in the too-still air that choked the goth with the sickly sweet stench of decay. For a brief second, he wondered if demons considered this smell, this putrid, unrelenting smell that soaked into fatty flesh and stayed there, something like opium… a craving that, once fed, left them lolling in mere moments of gruesome contentment.
"You have what I asked for?" Damien questioned, sitting up straight. The air wavered, and the scenery was shifting as the lines between Earth, Purgatory, and Hellish Limbo blurred into obscurity. Shadow nodded, fishing in his trench coat pocket. His naked fingers brushed against cool metal, and for a moment, there was unfathomable peace inside him. With a sigh, he drew it out, presenting it to his master. Wicked red eyes greedily drank in the pearl encrusted blade, but he could make no move to touch it. "Where did you find it?"
"Eden…" Shadow whispered. He closed his eyes, sadly.
"And what tore you from Paradise, Shadow?" Damien inquired, a knowing smile plastered across his inhumanely handsome face.
"You know what," he declared, glowering. The evil entity in front of him chuckled. Spinning the silver sword, Shadow pointed it at Damien thoughtlessly. "And you would have done the same!"
The light wavered against the polished steel. It gleamed bright in the dank, murky world around the two. Gray flakes of ash drifted down like stained snow between them, and the cries in the burning places of the world hushed until all was ragged breathing. The world churned, boiling at its very pit, and the peoples of the earth were chained in anguish in that hell… save for Damien, and Shadow, who wielded the Holy Blade of the Archangel.
In the respite, the dimensions shifted, and Damien stepped down from his ebony seat, pushing past Shadow. The sharp edge of the blade singed the blood caked robes of the Anti-Christ, and the Holy Sword grew too heavy for Shadow. It clattered to the floor, Shadow's arm quaking, and his fingers twitching, gripping for purchase in the air. Wisps of white smoke rose from the tips of his fingers and from the touched edge of the blade.
"I would kill you…!" Shadow barked, gritting his teeth in the flares of pain shooting to his very soul—if he had one left.
"Unfortunate for you," Damien drawled, "That you are not my foretold enemy." There was a hissing between razor-like canines, as Damien's lip curled up in a sneer at the mere thought of his enemy. Shadow, once the tremors in his arms dissipated, took up the Holy Blade once more, looking over to Damien.
"If your enemy is the only one who can smote you with it…" Shadow began, lugging the weapon behind him as he wandered to Damien's side, "Why'd you have me go through all this trouble to obtain it?"
Damien scoffed, stalking through decrepit halls of black stone and glittering rubies. The sword sparked at Shadow's heels, scarring the marble flooring, and grating the pointed ears of the demon lord. Irritated, Damien twisted back to Shadow, looming menacingly, "Must you do that?"
"Does it damage your lofty palace, master?" Shadow inquired scathingly.
Scoffing, the Anti-Christ shook his head. "I suppose we have more in common than I'd like to admit…"
"What?" Shadow asked, slightly confused by the back pedaling conversation, and picked up the sword carefully. The dark being in front of him was no longer skulking forward, instead, remaining standing as darkness rippled like a viscous, alive thing across the lengthy corridor of whatever dimension they had been traversing now.
"You're earlier statement…" Damien replied, nodding behind Shadow, "I would have done the same…" The goth turned around, and found his breath catching slightly. "… were I able."
Shadow stood, paralyzed, at the sight before him. He wanted to drink it in, the moment of finally feeling completed. His heart could of stopped, and by the absent pain in his chest, he was starting to suspect it did.
"I-Ike…" the very name was a sound very much like that of becoming acquainted with a long lost piece of themselves; a sound obviously associated with turbulent and scarlet memories. Shadow could not tear his eyes away from the scene. "W-What do I have to do…?"
"What delectable deja vu," Damien commented absently, "I believe you asked me that question a few years ago, didn't you?" Shadow could have roared in frustration at the flippancy, but the son of the devil moved closer, shouldering himself against a pillar that the goth could not recall being there a moment earlier. "He has kept Pip company, ya know… or maybe it is the other way around. I don't quite understand how comfort works."
As if bolted to the floor, a white, gnarled tree that looked to be made of rusted metal rather than wood and bark, was home to a sheltered cage. True to form, there was a winged being, with white feathers strewn across the floor like a downy bed. Lying against the bars, the bloody bones peeked out coyly from its prison, the gossamer sheets wrapped over the pale body—still healthy, full of life, despite the blank ocean eyes that gazed down at the dark head in the poor being's lap—and had been drenched, dyed crimson from its loving torment. The dark, ink colored hair was a strong contrast, standing out almost obscenely in the cage connected to a slight body, blanketed in blue silks.
"Ike…!" Shadow reached out at first, but pulled back, eyes darting to Damien. The other merely man walked into the scene, as if the goth's presence did not occur to him, and Shadow was quick to follow, lest he be left behind, trapped between worlds because of knocking knees.
From under the flowing robes, Damien produced a skeleton key—iron, with a cracked heart for the handle—and swiftly unlocked the bulbous cage. Its door swung open, and the demon stepped back, magnanimously gesturing to the inside. "Your payment, Shadow, for procuring the Sword of Heaven."
The sword fell from Shadow's hands in an instant. Metal clashing with metal echoed like thunder strikes, not that Shadow heard, his ears were full of the sound of his heart hammering something like a death metal tune he use to be so fond of. He gathered up Ike like a porcelain doll, cautiously arranging the cool fabrics that smelled of jasmine and honey… The weight of the slight body in his arms was familiar, and well missed. He could feel the pent up emotions crashing against him as he smoothed back the thick, clean strands of dark hair from flushed cheeks, unable to contain a wavering smile.
"Ike… Ike…?" he was chanting nonsensically, the boy in his arms stirring, turning into his overheated chest and burrowing there. It was as if the whole situation was just a terribly long dream… just an awful nightmare coming to its hopeful close.
"Shadow…" the sound of Ike's innocent murmur, like he had been dreaming of sweet childhood things, filled the ache and longing he had to suffer with for years on end. "I missed you." A shuttering breath left him, and he cradled Ike, preciously, tenderly, as if he might never get another chance to hold him in his arms again. "Where were you…?"
"I had to run an errand," he explained, almost laughing, ridiculously giddy.
"Don't leave me again…" Ike demanded, looking up with those blessed eyes that never could decide whether to be hazel gemstone or a lush, earthy green. Still dazed, his eyes fluttered closed, and Shadow swept him up bridal style, and bringing him closer than thought possible.
"I don't intend to," he promised. He hopped down, steel toed boots clapping the ground heavily. He had an inexplicable urge to rush, to leave as swiftly as possible. Shadow was retreating from the cage, when the creak of weight swinging rang out in the hollowed scene. It was startling momentarily, simply because it was unexpected. He looked back to Damien, who sat inside the doorway of the cage, one leg propped up to hold his arm as he gazed solemnly at the blond figure still blankly residing inside.
For a moment, he felt inclined to pity the Anti-Christ.
"I met him, Damien," Shadow said loud and possibly apologetic over the fragmented howls of a mountain wind. There was an iciness that crusted the burned grounds, stuck to the glinting edge of the blade that stood out like a sore reflection of unrelenting light. "Your enemy was in Eden. He gave me the sword… He forgave me… He even swore to save me from your hold… I-I don't think you have the power to win this battle."
"I know…" Damien answered, but never tore his glaring eyes away from the lovely creature in the petrified prison, "I've always known."
"Then why have me get the only weapon that can defeat you?" Shadow asked, stupidly.
"To taunt him… To make him rue the day to come," the demonic lord raised a claw-like hand, brushing a pale cheek soothingly; much like what Shadow had done earlier to Ike. "I wanted him to know what he was taking away from me."
"Damien—"
"What I'll be taking away from you," the Anti-Christ interrupted. Shadow felt every muscle in his body stiffen in terror. It was not a threat to be uttered, but a promised to be fulfilled.
"W-What…?"
"You didn't expect to make a deal with me," Damien asked, pausing to bend closer to Pip, and inhale the scent of the sunshine golden hair reverently, without so much as sliding his burning eyes to the goth, "…and still get everything you wished for, did you?"
Shadow immediately tightened his hold on Ike, and as he did so, the blue silks evaporated in a puff of perfume, along with Ike's body, as if he'd been an apparition all along. He cried out, trying to clutch at the breeze, but could grasp nothing, the colors blowing through his fingers, teasing him. In an instant, Ike had vanished like the foggy air in this cruel plane of existence. They had only been reunited for a moment—if that—and now… now, all was lost to shadow.
As if it was his very life that had faded to nothingness, Shadow fell to his knees, thudding harshly on the rocky terrain.
The darkness was closing in on him, swirling about, dragging him down to dungeons where he'd writhe in wretchedness and despair, just a fingertip away from his beloved. Shadow let his black as pitch clothes be snared by the barbed wire to be his ropes, letting Damien's powers pull him under into the shadow lands. A hell like that of a Greek drama… Close enough to have the sweet scent and lovely vision of Ike slumbering taunt him, but far enough away he'd never reach him… not without shredding himself apart to the point he'd never reach the other anyway.
"Why…?" was the last sentiment Shadow echoed in that wintry, sorrowful place before he was gone to his new torment.
Damien never moved from his spot, never bothered to do much else besides caress the long, flaxen hair entangled with the fluff of ripped feathers. Smiling—if such a being is capable of it—he raked his talons over exposed wings. "They keep growing back, Pip…" He placed his hotter-than-hellfire mouth against pliant, rose colored lips for a space of a breath. When he pulled back, tears had sprung forth on the seemingly comatose angel, beading down like rare, crystal clear opals. Damien gingerly pressed his forehead against Pip's. "He'll have want I never can… That's why."
The Anti-Christ left the cage of the stolen angel, walking through Hell, Earth, and any dimensions in between, searching for the enemy said to end The End. He, of course, would lose, as it was written. His crown smashed to pieces. His kingdom ripped in torrents. He would be left, utterly destroyed, alone… and all those in his clutches set free to Paradise by his enemy, the savoir.
All those in his clutches set free to Paradise…
All those in his clutches…
All… set free to Paradise.
"That's why…" and from his hapless sigh expelled noxious gas, brimstone, fire, and hate.
—END?—