Savage Divinity

Total Word Count: 30117



And then they locked us in the center of the fire, stuck us in the midst of those flames, and closed the circle behind us, leaving us there to die.



Heat.



That\'s all I remember. There was heat, and more heat, and even more. It was unbearable. I could barely see Asher through the smoke. I think he had collapsed, tangled in his own clothing, trying to escape the oxygen deficient air. He tried to breathe, and so did I. There wasn\'t enough air for either one of us. I held my breath. I think he was doing the same.



And then another shape plunged through the ring of fire. Another Angel-stock, I assumed. Another one caught, although how they caught him, I had no guess as to. But…it wasn\'t. It was the Vilyte – Reson. Treasonous dog.

And yet, here he was, collapsed over Asher, using his own body to shield my Commander from the heat, from the oxygen deprived air. It was a tender moment, a touching one. He looked up to me. I saw his eyes. He was frightened. So was I.



\'Lord, listen. Hear us, even if you fear us. Lord, listen. Hear us, even if you hate us. Lord, listen. Hear us, even if you will do nothing.\'



My prayer, sent to ears so far beyond the cycle of life and death that the words barely mattered. He wouldn\'t hear me anyway, and even if He did, what was the use? This was no longer His realm. He had renounced us, and given us control over our own destinies. We were granted choice. We were given freedom. We were gifted our perfect silver chains.



Why we took those over the golden ones we had been shackled with, I have no idea. The chains that had once held us prisoners to God were much looser, much easier to bend. Why we had forsaken Him for the lives we had chosen remained a mystery. Still remains a mystery. Why? Why anything?



But really…why this?



xxx



I heard them, and I knew them. I heard them and I wanted them. I heard them and I knew then, that they needed help. Any help. They wouldn\'t turn me away. I made my decision, made my move. These sons needed aid, and they would not turn it away, though I was not the one to whom they offered prayer. They would come around soon enough. I am savior enough for the warring factions.



I saved them.



I brought them away from the lives they had known. I took them with me, to the bowels of the earth. I did not enslave them – I am not that cruel. I merely wanted my kin with me. Such a thing isn\'t beyond belief, is it?



Awaken, little things. A new chapter in your life begins.



Awaken.



Awake.



Arise.



Now.



End Interlude.



xxxx



Reson\'s eyes flickered open slowly. His body hurt, but not in the way it should have, considering what he knew intellectually he had suffered. He should be dead. There should be no pain, no cognitive functioning. He shouldn\'t be experiencing the feelings of dread that he did, and no breath should have been seeping in and out of lungs that were stained with over exposure to smoke infested air. But they were. And he was, alive at the very least.



"It\'s about time you woke up."



He lifted his head, tilting it slightly. The room he was in was black marble – that was the first thing he noticed – polished until the walls and floor shined, sending back a nearly flawless reflection. His eyes searched in the poor lighting until they found the presumed speaker, the only other being in the room. It was a male, dressed in rich, dark leather, all black with miniature silver studs down the pants legs. Black gloves without fingers covered hands resting on the painted leather thighs. A trail of dark black hair poured over the shoulders, framing a face that was filled with a healthy, virile sense of life. The sharp featured face was soft in expression.



Reson took in the appearance and blinked. "Who are you?"



A soft laugh. "Who am I? Isn\'t the question better who you are? I don\'t know who you are, after all?" The hand resting under the chin in a thoughtful manner drifted down. Dark eyes matched the rest of the long haired male\'s outfit. "So, who are you? Answer me, and maybe then I\'ll answer your questions."



"Vilyte Reson," Reson answered stiffly, his voice catching slightly in his throat. He coughed slightly, trying to clear his throat inconspicuously. Damned smoke. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but the stranger was already asking one himself.



"Vilyte Reson, hmn? Well, why would that sound familiar to me? No…tell me – who exactly are you?" Dark eyes bored into him. The stranger stood from his spot sitting in a chair and paced forward. "What are you?"



"V-v-vilyte," Reson stuttered. He was losing his ability to think clearly with those eyes locked on him. Something akin to violent terror was building inside of him, but for the life of him, he couldn\'t figure out why. What reason have I to be frightened? "Just a soldier."



"Soldier?" The stranger seemed a little surprised. His dark eyes turned away, for which Reson\' was grateful. The hard gaze made it very difficult to think. "Well…soldier." Dark eyes came back, but they were softer, though no less penetrating. The look was uncomfortable, as if the owner of those eyes was seeing through him, and weighing everything inside. An uncomfortable feeling, truth be told.



"Yes, a soldier," Reson confirmed. "Just a soldier."



"You\'re lying," the stranger remarked pleasantly, beginning to pace alongside the bedside. "You\'re lying to me, Vilyte Reson. I don\'t like to be lied to." His voice was casual enough that he might have been discussing weather. "I\'ll give you one more chance, hmn? What are you? What were you?" Dark eyes.



I was a soldier! A soldier…and a speaker. A voice. A dissenter. Is that what he wants to hear? And the more pressing question… How did he know I wasn\'t telling the full truth?



"I was a soldier," Reson reiterated, his eyes drifting down from the stranger\'s to regard the bed coverings. They were dark grey, stained a charcoal color. He ran his fingers across them lightly. They were soft, and very comfortable. He looked up from them for a moment before his gaze returned to the sheets. "A soldier…and Nemsohiriel asked me to speak on his behalf. I didn\'t want to disobey…" His voice trailed off. "Just…"



A cool hand tilted his head up. He saw the dark eyes in front of him, mere inches away. They burned, if that was possible, liquid black that was on fire even as it was the color of fading smoke. "Now you\'re telling a bit more of the truth," the voice breathed. The caress of warm air across his face made Reson feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Can you let go of me?" he inquired when trying to pull back without being obvious about it yielded no result.



"But of course." The hand trailed down from his jaw to his throat, caressing there instead. It felt distinctly odd, and Reson frowned, disliking the attention this stranger was paying to his skin. The darkened eyes were discomforting as well.



"Please…stop."



"Stop what?" the stranger\'s hushed voice inquired, breathing into his ear.



I don\'t care if it\'s rude. His had brushed the other away. "Stop touching me," he snapped, slightly irritably.



The stranger drew back, a smug smile pasted across his face. "So you do have some fight left in you. I was beginning to wonder. I\'ll be back later." Then he vanished out a door Reson hadn\'t noticed. As the door snapped shut behind him, he realized something; there was no handle on it, and once the door closed, it blended so perfectly with the black marble of the room that it was as if there was no door there at all.



I\'m trapped?



Alive. Trapped.



What is this place?



xxx



Eyes slowly opened. He felt groggy. Asher tried to shake the feeling out of his head. He hated being sick. It was annoying to the extreme, and he didn\'t feel like dealing with it at the moment. He shook his head again, but it only made him feel more nauseous.



"Keep doing that and you\'ll throw up," a gentle voice advised.



"Mmm," Asher murmured, his body in complete agreement with the statement. He shook his head again anyway, though, and the contents of his stomach – meager though they were – rebelled, and forced their way up past his body\'s defenses. His entire frame jerked sideways, rolling so he was leaning off the bedside and he emptied his stomach onto a floor that – up until he started puking on it – had been dark and shiny enough to show him his face.



"What\'d I tell you?" the same voice asked. Gentle hands worked through his hair, drawing it back away from his face as he continued to retch. A pair of boots had entered his vision, standing just on the edge of the pile of projectile vomit. His body convulsed again and more slop sprayed from his mouth to the floor.



What did I eat to give me this much to throw up? he had to wonder. I don\'t recall eating anything…



Nothing for a while, at least.



His stomach jerked again, but though his body convulsed and his mouth was opened, nothing more came up except air and painful cramping.



"Looks like you\'re emptied…pity. You were just starting to keep stuff down too."



Who is that? Asher wondered. He sat up slowly, soft hands aiding him, still keeping his hair up away from the puddle of sick. His eyes caught sight of black leather, and a male who seemed to have been poured into a costume created entirely of the stuff. From the jacket and gloves to pants and boots – even a cape! – there was no space Asher could see that was not smothered in the stuff.



"Thank you," he managed, wiping his mouth as the hands of the stranger let him go.



"It was nothing," the stranger replied, brushing a strand of long hair out of his face. "It\'s never a problem to help someone." Something not quite true rang in those words, but Asher was too tired to try to figure it out. Maybe later he\'d ponder the question. "Are you all right?" the stranger asked, moving to perch on the edge of the bed.



Asher contemplated the question, taking careful inventory of how he was feeling. Minor aches and pains, bruises, and some indefinable sick feeling left over from being sick. Other than that… "I feel fine," he lied, take careful care to make sure his voice lacked inflection, to keep the lie from being detectable.



The stranger shook his head slightly. "No you\'re not." He leaned forward, resting on his elbows, his torso contorted at an odd angle to look up at Asher\'s face. "You were just sick. You\'re not feeling well at all, are you? Think carefully now. You wouldn\'t want to lie to someone you just met, would you? That could make a bad impression."



Was that warning, or something else? Asher weighed his answer carefully before replying in the affirmative. He was feeling slightly less than his best.



A tinkling laugh escaped the stranger. "\'Slightly less\'?" he mimicked. "Well, aren\'t we cultured? Don\'t take offense – I think it\'s charming." One of the stranger\'s hands was playing with his hair, twisting the locks around a finger. Asher watched it, mesmerized.



The relatively pale skin matched up with the white-gold hair, twining around and around and around…



"So, who are you?" the stranger asked. "Or is it more appropriate for me to ask what you were?"



What I was? The question made no sense to Asher. What I am…



"Angel-stock," he answered, somewhat stiffly. "A Commander in the army of Ten." He shut his mouth with a snap, frowning at himself. Why did I say that? It\'s not something I\'m supposed to just give out; what if he\'s Sempran? The stranger didn’t have the look of one of the Vilyte, but it could be he was a spy. What if Asher had just given himself away? Bad move.



That laugh again, gentle and reassuring. "A Commander? And for Ten? How lovely." The stranger sat up, edging along the side of the bed, his feet moving carefully to avoid the puddle of sick. Asher blushed slightly, wondering what exactly this peculiar stranger made of his episode. "Perhaps I should have someone clean this up soon," the stranger mused.



He was sitting nearly beside Asher\'s hip. The Angel-stock scooted sideways automatically to give more room for the other to sit. The stranger took the silent offering and lifted his feet off the ground. There was no vomit coating his boots. Asher wondered how he had managed to avoid it.



"A messy operation," the stranger mused, pulling off one boot at a time and tossing them towards the floor near the foot of the bed, well away from the mess Asher had made. Each boot made a hearty plunking sound on the ground. Task accomplished, the stranger leaned back against the headboard, mimicking Asher\'s position to an extent, though more relaxed than the Angel-stock was.



"Who are you?" Asher inquired after a moment\'s silence.



There was no reply immediately, so he turned to look questioningly at the other. He had given his own identity away, hadn\'t he? Why then was this stranger reluctant to? If it were a spy, then there would be no hesitation. That, as much as anything else, convinced Asher he was not in a spy\'s presence, but the perplexing question remained – who was this?



No reply came forth. After a moment though, the stranger sat up a bit straighter. One of his hands drifted over to caress Asher\'s cheek thoughtfully for a moment. The Angel-stock jerked in surprise at the touch. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice less steady than he wished it to be.



"Nothing." A small smile colored the stranger\'s face. A strand of white gold hair had fallen across his face, crossing dark eyebrows and eyes that were black. The dark gaze caught Asher\'s eyes and he watched, mesmerized as the hand continued to stroke his cheek so casually. Slowly the Angel-stock\'s eyes fluttered partly shut.



What are you doing? something inside demanded. Why are you letting someone touch you like that? He argued back. It doesn\'t mean anything! The little part of him that had begun the argument hrumphed in disgust. Of course it means something. Everything means something! So why is he touching you? And why like this?



"W-why are you…?" Asher murmured. The warm hand had migrated slightly lower, drawing fingers across his windpipe, and along the sides of his neck. It felt nice.



"Touching you?" the stranger\'s mellow voice answered. "Because I want to…and you look like you\'re enjoying it."

Stop him! the voice inside Asher\'s head demanded. He can\'t touch you like this! It\'s not what you were made for – stop him!



It\'s not harming anything, Asher protested. And it felt nice. His head tipped back slightly. The fingers kept running along his neck, painting larger circles, dipping lower, across his collarbone.



Stop him stop him stop him –



The startling touch to his chest pulled Asher out of his self-induced trance. His eyes snapped open and he fixed his eyes on dark ones. "Stop."



The dark eyes crinkled in amusement. "You were enjoying yourself a moment ago," their owner replied. The hand moved northward again, gently brushing across Asher\'s neck once more, but this time he didn\'t fall under its spell.



"No. Stop." His voice was firm, and didn\'t waver. He was proud of it.



The stranger laughed a final time. "Then I will."



Asher thought he heard the words \'for now\' echo through his mind as the stranger retrieved his boots and vanished out a door that hadn\'t been there a moment before. And once the stranger was gone…the door vanished as well, melting into the wall. Asher stared, studying the black marble surfaces for a long time. His own hand drifted up to his neck thoughtfully.



Where am I?



Who was that?



xxx



Aron felt the ache running through his body. It hurt, but not too badly. Why don’t I hurt more? Maybe I\'m dead…is this what it feels like to be dead? I thought it was supposed to be an end to all pain, forever. Or is that just in the storybooks? He opened his eyes, slowly. Everything was slow. If there was a more serious injury, he didn\'t want to know about it after it was too late. Each muscle he stretched, moving one limb at a time, so focused on his task, he neglected to notice another presence in the room until after he heard the voice.



"Awake, hmn?"



The chestnut haired male\'s head snapped up in surprise, disrupting a stretch and making his vision color temporarily. "What?"



As his eyes faded back into focus, he caught sight of a strange looking male, in an odd black material. Black leather, his mind supplied. Yes, black leather. Aron tilted his head to one side, continuing his stretching, but more focused now on this newest addition to his surroundings. "Who are you?" he questioned, tilting his head the other direction. "And what do you want?"



"Who am I?" the stranger replied, the question accompanied by a small laugh. "I think the better question is who are you. This is my place. They know me here. None of them know you. So, tell me…who are you?"