I'm back! Again! After leaving for about two months or so, I've decided to get the crap and get real; I'm leaving FanFiction for the most part. In other words, I will not be chatting with anyone too elaborately. I will still react to reviews, questions and all that but I won't be here as much as I was before.
Some stories will remain unfinished, be deleted or be posted on some other site therefore. I can spoil that the Resurrection series will not return and will never be finished. It's something that was completely broken from the start of the third installment and that was the icing on the crap-cake. Bad quality, plotholes and too many characters without any emotion to them.
Aside from that, this means I'll be putting much more time in the stories I do keep alive. Updates will be less frequent, to the point that it could take another two months but that's something I hope everyone can live with.
Now... enough writer's annoyance. To the story now! I'm going back to the Acts again, since the others were there for the readers choice. So don't be confused ^_^
(R)Act 4: Incarnated desperation
A faint ray of light shines through the surface of the much deeper seeming water as she opens her eyes. She could have sworn that the water she submerged herself in wasn't that deep. Her rear and most of her back touched the bottom of the bathtub mere seconds ago. The tub itself was also very narrow. She was barely able to put her arms next to her. However, wherever she is now allows her to go anywhere she would want.
She closes her eyes and she goes to herself for advice. Since no one else is around. Where am I? This is not the place where I... passed out? she thinks to herself when she realizes that this isn't something common at the last two words.
She passed out!? From what? By who? Krystal begins to feel the panic creep up on her. Stress surges up from the darkness it disappeared in. She begins to struggle against that, shaking her body violently as if she is having a nightmare. She was feeling so amazing, so carefree. And that magnificent feeling is something she is not prepared to lose without a fight.
Krystal tries to find what made her so relaxed to begin with. She takes a good sniff, trying to get to that caramel-esque flavor that quenched her hunger as well as her thirst. Instead, her nostrils fill up with water that irritates the insides. In a flash, she pinches and massages the heck out of it in order to calm down what is burning.
It should be a warning for her. She's no longer where she thought she was before. The dream has ended but Krystal is not having any of it yet.
Another thing was the steam and the warmth of the water itself. It made her feel loved and cared for. Her vision got fuzzy because of it. She wants that feeling again.
Instantaneously, her eyes open to meet her by imagination inspired smothering. As soon as she does so, the same happens. Her eyes are met with dirty-brown water that looks like liquid fecal matter which burns her cornea.
"Hm!" she utters with her mouth closed as her eyelids follow that example. She starts to rub them, much like her with nose hoping that the burning feeling will soon subside. More and more, she begins to realize that how good she felt, was nothing more than a dream. The realization is unshakeable and though she fights with all she has left, it is lost in seconds.
Reality strikes her when the warmth of the water turns cold. It's comforting and loving hug becoming a stranglehold as her lungs begin to plead for oxygen. She shakes her head violently as her skin slowly turns blue though that is barely visible through her fur. Looking up, she sees the surface being as far away as possible.
Krystal goes for it either way. Her arms and legs fail wildly as she swims upwards. A force from below however doesn't want her to go and it weighs down on her. A firm, irksome grip constricts around both her legs. She has no idea what, who and why but she doesn't care. Her face is aimed towards the light as her arms propel her forward. Despite the grip trying to pull her down, her will to live is stronger than anything else. At last, she reaches the surface and is incredibly grateful to finally have some inhale of air.
Her arms flail around wildly as she can barely keep her head above the water's surface. They slap the surface of the water in the hope to find something to hold-on to. A faint thud and the rude feeling of something similar to sandpaper feel like a gift from heaven. The soil she padded upon is mud-like but as almost as hard as concrete with grains of crude grains of crude salt in between a waved pattern.
Almost powerless, all her ten fingers try to dig into the ground she found by extreme luck. They can't come through but at least they stick behind the waved pattern. Shaking and shivering, she crawls onto the newfound land using only her paws, dragging her useless and ice-cold body with her. It would be a lot easier if it didn't weigh a million tons.
When everything of her is out of the water, she sighs deep. Partly because she is not in the pleasant atmosphere anymore and partly because she narrowly escaped death. And instead of staying the past, knowing that she's unable to hold on to it, she chooses for the latter.
And after a period of her only groaning, grumbling and aching, her body begins to function like normal again; she begins to cough up the water she unwillingly ingested. She's intensely happy to breathe normally again. In her wild splattering, there was almost no room for that.
She opens her eyes, which were closed for most of her panicking. The water slowly droops of her face and suit when she looks up, using her arms to rise up slightly. She can't say two meters in front of her as a white fog, which smells like a dozen of rotten eggs put directly underneath her nose, blocks her from seeing a thing. A silhouette resembling a palm tree is something she can make out if she really focuses but it could be a rock shaped like one in the distance.
The stench however could come from her as well though. She rolls down on her back as she looks down at her body; her suit looks terribly drenched, feels seriously icky and smells like a dead fish that was infested with flesh-eating maggots and a symposium of decompositions going on at the same time. The large scratch Délarbé made in the suit caused that same stench to get nest itself in her belly fur. It even reached spots that kind of water should never reach.
"Yuk!" is the only thing she can utter in response to that discovery. But not much she can do about that though. There is no place to wash it clean and she certainly doesn't have the strength to reach such a place. Instead, she gives up. At least for a while.
Her right cheek falls and fits perfect into a small gap in the ground. Surprisingly, it feels soft like a pillow instead of the harsh ground she has become grew accustomed to. Blankly, she stares ahead. She looks over nothing but calm water, occasionally washing ashore with a comforting splashing sound of the surf. Above that hangs the vision-hampering fog.
A soft breeze waves over her entire wet body, making her shiver and cringe into a fetal position to keep herself warmer. The wind leaves a soft caress all over her body and feels like a friendly, still cold reminder that she's back in the real world. In other words, back in a nightmare.
As long as she doesn't see something that is furry, midnight-blue and tries to hinder her in every way possible to reach her goal, she fine with it for now. But… what was her goal again?
Oh God! Fox! I completely forget about him! How… is that possible? Forgetting him… what was in that water? And that weird feeling I had… I should forget about it all. It was nothing more than… my imagination. Or something like that.
She groans loudly as it hurts her brain to think back at all that happened. So much and so complicated. Like a plan that went horrible wrong and somehow turned more complicated than it had to be.
I should stop trying to find explanations for everything. It could kill me one day. Maybe… I should just get some rest. Just… rest for a while.
Krystal closes her eyes, exhales softly and stretches herself out once the wind subsides into nothing. Sleep gets to her in a matter of seconds as she sinks into a deep slumber, softly snoring away. And for the first time in a long time, Krystal's mouth somehow forms a smile. As if she has hope for the future.
Behind the seemingly never-ending cover of fog, a restless soul wanders around talking to himself. He looks rather affected by something, like a dead man walking. Weight on his shoulders that is comparable to that of small stone statues is already uncomfortable. Blood gushes out of several bullet holes made by a pistol of someone he shouldn't have pestered. Certainly when his girlfriend was in his possession and threatened with death.
But he doesn't worry about that much. The bullet holes are slowly healing up, crusting up the spilling blood. They are healing up rather slow when compared what he has normally used to. He's also out of breath but he covers that up very well by slowing his pace down to that of a snail. He has no need to hurry; he'll get there eventually.
The thing this midnight-blue wolf is worried about though, is a certain blue vixen that escaped his grasp. The very thought of her roaming free without him knowing where she is and what she's doing makes him grate his razor-sharp fangs.
"Did I... lose her?" whispers Dagon to himself as he gets the memory of just a dozen of minutes ago. In the dark shadow, he saw what he wanted to see. He saw a true friend of Krystal, Sciltch, looking all beaten up by Krystal's indecision and self-pity and waiting for an answer he'll never get. All she had to do was get done with it and live her life as the spoiled brat of a Cerinian Princess she always has been. But that didn't happen. Instead, she went to take a bath and drowned herself just long enough for her to make him Dagon lose control over her.
"How is that possible? She was... but happened in between? I saw her. I heard her! It was only a matter continuing, why would she give up like that?"
Dagon can't make sense of it. How is it possible that Krystal was able to know she was not in the real world? That Dagon had control over her? Or was it dumb luck? That the stress she expressed towards Sciltch was real and she couldn't handle it anymore? Either way, Dagon is not gonna stand for it.
He put a lot of effort into trying to keep Krystal in the illusion and with that came severe consequences. His main threatening aspect, his unparalleled power has been decaying ever since. Power he draws from his supply of absorbed souls and those have seen better times for sure. Though he has many more to draw power from, he had selected a group of them specifically for the creation of the illusion. And those are all dried up. The unused souls are now repairing him but that takes time.
Meanwhile, Dagon has another thing to grind his gears over. What will Délarbé's reaction be? He dares not to think about it too much. Nothing of this is his fault he states in a vile growl that is mostly just for himself to hear.
"That fucking whore! If Dé hears about me losing her... he will never forgive me." he ponders before he turns to the stone weighing down on his shoulders. The Sons of Plunder that clanged onto him as still doing nothing more than being dead weight to carry around.
"Find that bitch!" growls Dagon against the Son on his right shoulder. It doesn't take much for it react and break free from its stone state. A shock runs through its mostly scaled and frail skin like a boost of life forcing its way through the stiff structure. Its eyes glow bright red once before the creature hops off the shoulder and speeds off into the fog in search for "that bitch".
The others didn't get the message it seems. Dagon looks at all of them with a face of contempt and impatience. "Do the gentlemen require a special invitation to follow my orders?"
Without any resistance, the Sons all detach from Dagon's body, revealing his new attire. A crimson overcoat of a rather stylish nature. Dark gray pants with dark gray knee-high leather boots are covering his lower half. He wears no undershirt, letting his muscled chest and abdomen show with the runes glowing ever so slightly. An impressive, dominating yet humble appearance when compared to whatever scum walks around this place.
All the Sons run into the fog in search for Krystal. All but one; that one is either Number 4 or Number 5 but given the look of its tail it's surely Son Number 4. The rattle at the end of its tail makes its sound, spinning around making tiny circles as its small ugly head looks up at the midnight blue wolf, as if it says that he's about to meet death.
The dense white fog around suddenly turns more red as it begins to swirl. The thick package begins to resemble what the inside of an eye of a tornado must look like. All of it revolving all around the circling. While this unfolds however, Dagon doesn't seem particularly disturbed by any of this. Even though this is his domain with Délarbé's own Hell, he has seen strange occurrences like this one happen before. Creating a new world always causes problems with the established nature around it so nothing like this is new.
What is new however, is the change in color. It doesn't turn red completely; rather a light sort of grey fills the latter color. He feels the presence of someone coming to him from behind the wall of fog. He doesn't know where he's coming from. Looking suspiciously around him, his ears peaked in the air; he searches for anything or anyone that is outside. The swirling makes no noise which makes it easier to hear around him.
"I can sense you." he speaks with voice black as night supported by his darkest undertone yet intending to frighten however the one foolish to approach him. "You should back off before I make you back off."
His threat is met with the sound of sharpening something on iron on grindstones, most likely swords or other iron weaponry. Given this realm's violent nature such a noise is nothing out of the ordinary. It's something soothing to hear over the dead silence. A click of a heel however, coming from behind him, interferes with the sound and makes it stop immediately.
"Dagon." speaks an all too familiar black metal voice, though severely crackled. As if a rustling campfire is burning in someone's throat over which all too happy scouts can warm their marshmallows and exchange spooky stories.
An almost inaudible gasp comes from Dagon as he turns to the direction the voice came from. A hard swallow is a rare sight on him but if he is right about the identity of this person… it's not odd to have that reaction.
It can't be. That is impossible!
"Nothing is impossible!" roars the same voice, only more mighty and impressive than before. As through the fog the clicking of heels comes closer to him. The rattle stops circling as well as making the rattling noise. And from behind the fog, Délarbé appears.
His appearance makes Dagon raise an eyebrow; all of his veins are visible, being blue enough to be see-through even with his fur and skin. The symbols around his left eye have been reduced to nothing but a smear of purple, resembling a bruise. Under the weight of that, the eye is twitching. Every step he takes seems to hurt him.
"Délarbé?" checks Dagon just to be sure. "You look..."
"Horrendous?" finishes Délarbé for his friend. "Join the queue."
It's a good thing to see Dé still has his sense of humor but then again, he always had. A small smirk appears on Dagon's face. Now that his partner in crime is back, Krystal is as good as dead. He still has a score to settle with her, something Délarbé prohibited and halted him from doing several times before.
Délarbé however, has different plans. He begins to verbally attack Dagon. "So... you decided to go out of your way, show some neat mind tricks, some foreplay to everyone's favorite blue vixen?" he starts off pretty calm, rubbing his thumb against his index finger, strangely enough not burning as usual. "Correct me if I'm wrong…" he continues. "… but aren't you extending her life? Making me wait longer for her soul? Hm?"
Délarbé's tone gets more direct, more aggravated and more accusing. The rubbing in between his thumb and index finger continues causing small sparks to be sprinkled about. A short growl is uttered by the grey-furred demon in fox's clothes before he shouts loud. "Something that will soothe the only pain I cannot handle!?"
The small fire on his finger is lit again at the end of his shout; however it lights up much more violent than Dagon has ever seen. And for a small second, so does Délarbé, who looks upon this with big, confused and almost frightened eyes. The thrust upwards is nothing but a spasm of a power that doesn't accept it is dead yet. The fire therefore quickly evaporates and instead a stream of blood intertwined with beam of pure energy having a slightly lighter red spouts out which lands on the ground and on Dagon's face.
"See this?" says Délarbé on a contained manner, using this unexpected side-effect of his weakening to his advantage. "That is my blood. Is that what you want to see? My blood?" He tilts his head to the right, making an uncanny snapping noise. "You want to see more of it? Because that can be arranged with ease. All you have to do… is to flop your magic about to mess with Krystal until you are satisfied."
Dagon growls slightly, more annoyed than impressed by Délarbé's verbal attack. "You know that I'm just doing what you wished you could. If you had planned this all better and had not been overcome by the desires of your host this wouldn't have happened."
"This is not the point!" barks Délarbé. "I gave you the chance, the opportunity to prove yourself as a valuable asset in my plan. I wanted you to become incarnated desperation. Something that would make any mortal cringe while also making it shit their pants! Something with a real appeal rather than some sort of puppet master nobody can see or hear."
"So… you wanted me to become you? Kind of arbitrary don't you think? I thought you were the bloke with an identity crisis."
"Don't you think I know that?" replies Délarbé with a more infuriated tone. "But that was not the point!"
"Psh… I have no time for this. I'm gonna leave you now; I have strings to pull and your work to finish." Dagon turns around after he said so and is already coming up with new ideas how to torment Krystal for his own pleasure.
Dagon hasn't even set five steps before he hears; "You are not going anywhere Dagon. You are staying here and leave me to do it."
Dagon stops dead in his tracks when he hears that line spoken by a voice symbolizing the breaking down of a demon. It makes him giggle, which turns into a mostly concealed chuckle and finally a good laugh. He cannot believe he heard that coming from someone who can barely hold himself together. Turning around, he sees a great example of that: a twitching grey furred vulpine with only a clenched pair of fists and a pair of fangs to look anywhere near threatening.
"Do you even realize… the mere stupidity of what you just said?" wonders Dagon with agonizing belittlement towards Dé. He slowly approaches to the grey vulpine, still twitching in place and looking more pissed off the closer Dagon gets. "A mere snap of my finger could do more damage than all of your powers at this moment can do. However… you don't seem to realize when to hang back and let a real demon, who has grown akin with this way of life, do the work you commanded it to do. Looks like I have to teach you…"
Dagon pauses for a bit as he is almost touching Délarbé's muzzle with his. He turns his head away to the right to seemingly scratch his nose for a wee bit before in one quick swoop he grabs Délarbé by his muzzle. The grip around it is almost bordering bone-crushing and it forces Délarbé's fangs deep into his gingiva.
"…that when you tell me to do something, I will do so." he tells Délarbé while looking him right in the eye, seeing anger but the inability to retaliate. Arms too weak to lift themselves and hands unable to grasp anything but air. "However…" adds Dagon as he pulls Délarbé closer before mercilessly throwing him on the ground by his muzzle, effectively digging the lower half of his face into the hard stone below. Délarbé's whole body recoils but falls with the rest like a ragdoll.
"…on my conditions my respected friend." allocates Dagon as he sets a big crude foot on top of Délarbé's head as if he was an acquired trophy shot by hunting. Not possessive but just to show his superiority. It's a euphoric moment for him; he just managed to subject a demonic superpower in the making. He could just finish Délarbé off and take over his role. However, his friendship combined with the fact that he doesn't even want to lead, prevent him from doing so. The only reason why he downed Délarbé was too show him how weak he really is. It's only natural that someone like Dé will never acknowledge this on his own. Dagon had to jam it down like this for his sake.
Délarbé tries to resist but is incapable of doing so. No limb moves at his command. He's completely paralyzed and as useful as a wet towel. All he can do is muster massive amounts of anger as his teeth grind together and into his gums.
He then eyeballs at the Son, still standing there with a bland stare. With a hissing tone, making sound like a vile serpent, he commands the creature to protect its master. As if stricken by lightning, the Son snaps out of the stare and charges at Dagon.
Not focusing on the creature, the wolf is unpleasantly surprised when with an ear-piercing squeal, a gaping mouth filled with ridiculous looking fangs and its claws drawn the Son attacks him. Anti-climatically enough, with just a smack coming from the back of Dagon's right hand knocks the furious attacker out in mid-air. It lands on the ground with a faint thud.
"Like its Master; doesn't know when to stand down." says Dagon in disappointed tone, seeing such potential go to waste. "Let me explain you something. Incarnated desperation does not necessarily mean that you have to be insane. Constantly being psychically present around the victim is not something that needs to be a part of that title. For as long as you are plaguing the victim and he or she knows you exist in some psychical form, you are incarnated desperation already."
"Fine..." admits Délarbé with grumble, getting the hint. "Have it your way."
That is what Dagon wanted to hear. Without saying anything, he lifts up his crude foot from the top of Délarbé's head. With almost brotherly respect, he wastes not a single second before he picks up his friend's weak body from the ground. He delves his arms underneath Délarbé, one just below his armpit and around his ribcage while his other arm circles around his middle.
Délarbé himself is baffled by Dagon's move. At first, he thought that Dagon was going to finish him off after he had given his way. Surely this would be the perfect moment to slit his throat and take the throne.
"Do you think you'll be able to stand?" asks Dagon polite before trying anything, to which Délarbé nods with the same perplexed facial expression plastered on his face. After that, Dagon slowly sets his friend upright on the ground, making sure he stands strong enough. With everything Dagon does, Délarbé complies. Spreading his legs a tiny bit apart to make sure he doesn't topple over or straightening his shoulders and back are all allowed. The last thing Dagon does is to dust off his friend before taking a step back to see Délarbé how he is now.
"You look… better… I guess." he says with badly hidden containment. trying to make it look more positive than it really is. "At least you are not looking so dusty now."
Dé rolls his eyes around and a barely noticeable but still present smirk forms on his face. "I will keep collecting dust if all I do is stand here and do nothing until you are done with your games." He points at the smear around his eye. Something that makes him shudder, suggesting that it was very painful for a movement that simple. "As this is not purple crayon. This is real and declining very fast for your information."
"Do not worry so much Dé." says Dagon assuring, placing both his paws on Délarbé's now shaking shoulders. "What you should do right now, is rest. Instead of wasting what energy you have left on this admittedly spectacular showpiece and trying to confront me. Cause both do not get you to where you want it to go."
Applying pressure very gently on his shoulders, Dagon persuades Délarbé to sit down as just casually standing up is already quite the task for Délarbé. Again, Délarbé complies as he sits down on the floor. He exhales exuberant and crosses his legs. "Like this?" he verifies looking up at Dagon.
"It is a start my friend. Now… I have to go. Krystal won't be waiting for me if I dwell here any longer."
"Maybe she already found the exit?"
"Don't be ludicrous Délarbé. Krystal finding her own way out of this place? Without her beloved on-off relationship with that red fluff ball? Pssh! She is too stubborn for such a thing and you know that."
Délarbé sniggers. "I do. I was just teasing you… you sensitive prick."
"I will be seeing you later. And then I'll be having something you'll like a lot." assures Dagon as he now turns his back on Délarbé for real this time. The whirlwind stops spinning around, settles and disappears slowly as fast as it came up, allowing Dagon to walk through without any trouble. And just before he disappears out of Délarbé's sight, he can hear that same person say:
"Hey Dagon. Give 'em hell okay?" he chortles.
As always, leave a review with your honest opinion. Any grammatical or spelling errors, please report those through a PM. Makes me look less shitty for new readers~
-Phantom R.D.S. Foxx