MrSmee

I want to apologise... So, sorry. I didn't plan for such long breaks between posts. Finding the right frame of mind to write this turned out harder than I anticipated.

Btw, if it interests anyone, this is what I was listening to while writing:
1st half: Yuggoth: 1 Hour of H.P. Lovecraft Orchestral Ambient Horror Music composed by Graham Plowman.
2nd half: mostly a loop of My Hero OSTs From Me To You and Might+U.

“AHR-R-R-RRGL…” AN UNPLEASANT WET GARGLE GREETED VOICE’S ENTRANCE. “Ahhr… Thrat wars rrather …fffflamboryant, erven forrr youhhr.”

Like the Saintess’ improvised abode, the watch-room was nothing more than a cave, only even more sparsely furnished than Seraphina’s cell. Two doors—one wood, the other metal—a hard chair, and a large ornate mirror were all that separated it from just another hole in the porous labyrinth of these mountains. Before Voice brought in his illusory shine, the glowing mirror had been the lair’s only light source.

Although this location bore great significance for their Order, never was it intended as a base of operations. Even maintaining a storeroom would have risked the place being discovered. So once it was decided to hold the saintess at the ceremony site, they had to scramble to set up basic accommodations.

Voice closed the wooden door behind him, glancing at the opposite metal one and quickly ignoring the feeble grunting coming from beyond. He turned his impenetrable mask towards the chair occupant, visible only as a gnarly lump wrapped in a dirty cloak. The hunch of a knobbly back hid the hooded head from view. “You are not the only one here with… artistic sensibilities… Hand,” the illusionist scoffed mildly. “Showmanship is also half the deception, I’ll remind you.”

“Shrrr… Shrrr… Shrowmanship! Har… har… ughl…” The wet quaver dripped with drooling ridicule. Hand never looked away from the mirror. “Ishr thrat shomethingrrr youss learrrrned in the gut-t-tr-tr-trers of Lak-k-kurrrrima?” Hand’s words sounded like they came not from a mouth, but rather a moist flesh hole attempting to imitate human noises.

Voice didn’t gratify the taunt with acknowledgement. His past was irrelevant, a dead and rotten husk he’d long since shed off. Besides, this sort of yappy posturing was altogether pointless—disgusting even. Abhorrent. His lips drew a thin white line. It nauseated him to observe again even their Order of cleansing wasn’t exempt from the corruption of sapient ego. But such trash had its uses.

His attention shifted to the mirror. Instead of the hunchback’s reflection, the looking glass showed the saintess unconscious body. Seraphina laid atop her bed covers, clad once more in a loose purple nightgown. The cloth rode up her rosy thighs and did little to hide her perky breasts, a palmful each, or the shaved clam of her womanhood.

The spectacle left Voice cold as a corpse. He’d ascended past the base pleasures of the flesh. The vast intricacies of the mind, to him, held by far many superior delights.

And one required an incredibly stubborn mind to resist the fumes of his infusion of Scattered Dreams Blossoms for more than a couple of breaths. He’d concocted the mix to confuse dragons.

The thought finally brought a tremor to Voice’s loins. He’d kept himself under tight control in the saintess’ presence, but nothing boiled the depth of his lust like an inflexible will.

Nothing aroused him more than the prospect of breaking it.

Oh, Seraphina. The things he would do to her if he had the time—and the liberty to do so. Hah… A sharp shiver coursed from his skull, down his spine, and to the very tip of his manhood, summoning a sudden aching hardness. His vision blurred. Thoughts filled him, of the saintess’ calamitous wilfulness being wiped clean, like stain most foul which it was, and replaced by enlightened mindless devotion to a rightful master—The Rightful Master.

The mere idea saturated Voice’s being with orgasmic exaltation. His hardness resented the confines of his pants. It was almost enough to make him cum in his breeches.

The death of a soul’s autonomy was such a glorious event to witness! The beauty of this Holy Communion with a greater existence.

How Voice wished to share that majesty with the world!

He was glad his ample robe covered his turgid girth and that his mask hid how his eyes had briefly rolled back. Taking a discreet breath, he reasserted his control over his locked muscles and forced them to relax. He cracked his neck. This was no time to be distracted. He had resisted so far. He would endure. What were a few months in decades of scheming?

However—Oh!—how the temptation had been strong. When the saintess had finally succumbed to his drug, it was a crucible of his faith not to take over that misguided lamb, right there and then, when she laid in his arms, a languid offering, drugged and suggestible.

Yet, he resisted. Seraphina Ascent was too important a piece to risk damage before even setting her on the game board. A soulless doll was easy to break in. He could grab any worthless heathen whore off the street and work them until their broken mind ascended to the Truth. A true puppet, one that danced to the tune of their own volition, that required a whole other level of dedication and patience—a more expert touch than he could provide, as much as it galled him to admit.

As unsavoury as the hand providing that touch could be, Voice could not afford to be picky.

Hidden by his mask, his disgusted eyes landed on the deformed creature. “I did my part. How about you do yours?” His tone was nothing but pleasant, exempt from the emotions raging within. “Or should I get myself another Hand?”

The hunchback finally twisted around. A smooth white mask marked with a black handprint fixed Voice—hiding a glare, he was sure. “How darrrre youss—”

“Hand of the Order!” Voice boomed, taking a threatening step forwards. The faint glow in the room dimmed oppressively. “Do you refuse obedience to the word of Tarjun’s Voice?”

The hunchback straightened—as much as able—and stiffly turned around. “I ssssubmit to the Worrrd of thhhhe One Masterrrrr,” they gargled in defeat and raised a four-fingered hand towards the mirror. The surface rippled. On the other side, Seraphina’s tattoos lit up with writhing purple light. It pulsed to an irregular rhythm along the tortuous roots inked into her flesh. Sweat pearled on her forehead as her sleep grew fitful.

For a long moment, nothing else seemed to happen. Then Voice noticed a faint purple fuzz growing on the saintess’ shaved scalp. Her skin looked paler as well. With each breath, her chest swelled ever so slightly, and her hardened nipples lengthened. Her waist narrowed as her hips and ass crept outwards, and her thighs thickened. Had the mirror carried over sound, they would have heard quiet cracking noises as the woman’s bones adjusted to their new dimensions. The procedure would also make her skeleton sturdier and more flexible, to allow her to perform her new duties… and survive them.

A rare genuine smile broke out on Voice’s face. He had to admit, watching a plan come together was another of life’s greatest joys. He allowed himself a short moment of self-congratulations as he mentally went through all the invisible adjustments being made to turn the saintess into their weapon.

He hadn’t lied to the woman. The tattoos indeed did nothing but control her magic—the magic of an outstanding healer. And what miracles the ability to manipulate flesh could accomplish when applied beyond simply mending of wounds. A shame it was so tricky to perform without turning the subject into an unviable abomination. The living body, Voice had discovered, was a complex and flawed machine, all too prone to breaking down.

Providing a framework for the operation was tattoos’ purpose, limiting the possibilities but also the risks for mistakes. In a way, they were the strings of an instrument, and Hand was the virtuoso.

All too soon, the glow faded from the black lines, and the deformed cultist sagged in front of the mirror. Not much had been accomplished beyond minor physical alteration, but Voice hadn’t been expecting otherwise.

“Ahhrrr… Ahrr… It-t-t-t It’ll be easierrrr… shhhould she trrrake arr bhha-ath,” Hand wheezed wearily, with a meaningful head tilt towards the locked metal door, just in time for a weak oinking grunt to come through.

“Don’t fret. I’ll make sure she does,” Voice answered softly, his eager eyes never leaving Seraphina as she settled back into a quieter sleep, unaware of the disturbing fate awaiting her.

♦ ♦ ♦

Wald sniffled, accepted the handkerchief Ariel held up for him, and loudly blew his nose.

“…I didn’t like it.”

They were on their way from the theatre to a small restaurant—the intended plan for a drink had received an upgrade at some point—and those were his first words since the movie rolled its credits, ten minutes ago.

“I should have warned you it was a bit of a tear-jerker.” His date’s smile showed her amused endearment and a touch of apology. Wald glared at the blonde—or tried to. It came out as more of a sad pout, to which Ariel bit her lips but failed to hold back a giggle. The young man tried to keep his wounded sullenness intact, but eventually, he too succumbed to an embarrassed chuckle.

He rubbed his nose and wiped the corners of his eyes. “I don’t like sad endings.”

“It’s not really sad. They both get what they were looking for in the end. It’s more… bittersweet.”

“But they can’t stay together.” His voice caught a little. Averting his eyes, he swallowed and blinked away a tear. “You must think I’m silly.” Men weren’t supposed to cry over some inane romance flicks.

Ariel smiled gently, creasing her little dimples. “No, of course not.”

“I like happy endings. That’s all,” Wald insisted. “There’s enough sad stuff around already. I don’t need it in fiction too.”

“I get it.” His date stepped before him and turned around, taking his hand and forcing him to look at her. “And that’s fine. But, I also believe that experiencing a wide range of emotions from a detached perspective, like a movie or a book, it cultivates our empathy, and it helps make us better people.” Her tone was light. Her eyes were not.

Wald stared at her, intensely, until the blonde blushed. “…What?”

“You’re amazing.”

She ducked her head, the tips of her ears turning dark pink. “I’m really not.”

“Yes, you are,” he asserted, his smile sincere. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. And you’re so confident in being yourself. Honestly, it’s inspiring.”

The sparks in Ariel’s eyes seemed to dim. She spoke softly, maybe to herself. “…I wasn’t always.” Before Wald could react, the moment had passed. Laughing, Ariel bumped their hips together. “You’re pretty great yourself.”

“Aw. Thanks…” He scratched his cheek awkwardly. “It’s nice of you to say.”

“I mean it.”

He looked up and away, pretending to focus on the weirdly bright stars above. “I’m not, though. I’m lazy… I get easily distracted… I have no ambition…” Just saying it, he could hear his mother’s voice worriedly listing his many flaws.

Warm lips brushed against his and promptly pulled Wald out of his self-recrimination. He found himself blinking dumbly into a pair of very close, vibrant and solemn green eyes. “Wald…” Ariel breathed against his mouth. “So, you’re not perfect. Nobody is. You are a good person. Not everyone would be so readily and unconditionally accepting.”

He mumbled, “I just don’t think it’s worth making a big deal over.”

“Then, I’ll have to make you understand why that’s a big deal, to me.”

Their lips touched again, and this time, they stayed locked. It was still very much a chaste kiss, but to Wald, it reached deep. When Ariel dropped back to her heels, her eyelashes fluttering prettily, he kept staring at her, struggling to process his emotions.

“I mean,” Ariel smirked impishly. “You didn’t even ask if I still had it.”

Wald blinked. “It?”

“Ma dick.”

He choked through a chortle. “Dammit, Ariel. Way to ruin the moment.”

“It’s a gift,” she laughed and skipped backwards, away from him along the sidewalk. “But aren’t you the slightest bit curious?”

“Ah… err… that’s…” He’d lie if he claimed to be not at all curious, though he felt it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. Then again, she was the one who’d brought it up. “…Do you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her grin grew more devilish. “But that’s not exactly the kind of thing I share on a first date, you know?”

She skipped back… off the curb and into the street—thankfully empty at this time of the night.

However, alerted as if by a sixth sense, Wald caught the incoming white blur charging towards them at impossible speeds. His legs moved without his conscious thought. When he came to his senses, he was shoving Ariel out of the way with both hands.

The last thing saw was her beautiful face, wide forest green eyes shifting from shock to horror, and peach-coated lips opening on the first note of a scream—a scream drowned out by the truck’s horn.

*HOOOOOOOOOONK!!–––––––––––––––*