Tristan's Nightmare

Slim and lithe, his body physically tuned as he emerged from boyhood to maturity, Tristan, at the age of sixteen, was handsome and beautiful. For his age he was not tall, but nevertheless enchanting. As he moved his slender body, his muscles would shift attractively under his smooth tan skin, which would be brushed lightly by his long black hair, hanging past his shoulders and tenderly touching his lower back. His features were sharp, and yet soft enough to retain a shrouded femininity. His almond shaped eyes, deep dark brown, lent to his beauty the most. Perhaps most intriguing was Tristan’s demeanor. Outwardly quite, reserved, and at times shy, he appeared always to be in control of himself, but plunge into the darkness of his ravaged soul and you’d find a hellish nightmare. Often brooding, Tristan would sometimes lose control, but only in his own privacy. His internal nightmares became preferable to the cutting, mauling reality of the world. Tristran would forget his own pains and suffering and invent an astounding dark world, where he could control what happened to him. He began to feel pleasure in his own self administered pain, always imaginary, but it would spiral out of control, driving his depression foreword with burning prods until his brooding became an overwhelming tidal wave of darkness.

Tristan was laying on his bed, his shirt disregarded, and his belt-less dark blue jeans tight around his hips. The blankets were a labyrinth of twists and turns, the pillows were strewn across the bed, his hair was ruffled from violent contortions of his body, but now he lay still, partially covered by a light silk sheet, snow white and bleeding red under the evening sun, which streamed through his window and tainted his room with dripping blood. Rudimentary tears clung to the corners of his eyes as he imagined a giant spiraling serpentine demonness, wrapping herself around his naked body. She tortured him, caressed him, bit him, licked him, gouged his skin, brushed his flesh. Laying on the bed and surrounded by the bloody light, Tristan’s body ached, his muscles twitched, and his arousal pressed against his jeans. Shutting tight, his eyes closed and tears streamed over his heated flesh. His hands clutched his shoulders and his arms brushed his chest. His arms past over sensitive and tingling nipples with every movement, sending cold haunting shivers of pleasure through out his entire body.

His imaginations, surging with energy pouring from his titillated body, dripped from his tears, blackened with the darkness of his soul. The black tears coagulated around him. The puddle built and spilled from the bed. Tristan withered with pleasure, his hands running down his firm body. His breath was broken by his own touches. He whimpered and sighed. The blackened tears collected at the far end of the room. They bubbled, black and thick, the tears boiled and exploded violently as they rose into the air, they twisted and twirled into disjointed shape, which became clearer as Tristan unbuttoned his jeans and slipped his hands down his slender hips. Solid, there appeared a crooked piano with a crooked man. His flesh peeling from his bones, his muscles rotting where he sat, the man was dressed in a black frayed robe. His long bony fingers slammed into the keys of the black piano. The pianist demented, the listener insane, the skeleton clawed an alluring dissonance from the broken strings of the piano. Tirstan’s hips rose into the air, his jeans were kicked hastily aside. His muscles strained against the air. His hands gripped his member, raw with friction, fiercely. Blood, drawn by his nails, trailed down is chest. The skeleton’s arms flailed in the air, his fingers raped the piano. His eyeless head laughed and rolled loosely on decaying joints. Tristan slides his thumb over the head of his penis, and he cries out. One hand slides down and cups his loose scrotum while the other, with a rotating thumb over the head, clutches his burning member. Tristan is about to loose himself, the pianist convulses over the piano. Muscles clenching spastically, Tristan cries out. White seed explodes into the air, hovers, and than cascades over Tristan’s panting body. The Pianist hits his final broken key. Fire consumes the piano and the pianist and the skeleton begins to cackle with the flames.

From the shadows underneath his bed emerges a leathery hand. Red and covered with protective smooth scales, the hand clutches the frame of his bed. The hand becomes an arm, reaching and grasping the covers of the bed. From the darkness emerges the demonness. Her eyes were suffocating silver with vivid red slits. Deep long black hair rolled over his features, and her entire body was covered with the smooth scales, except for the yellow leathery underside of her body. Her beautiful human torso faded gracefully from her full hips into a long slithering body of a snake. She held and cuddled Tristan, who was still unaware of his surroundings.

The pianists flesh began to grow, the muscles wrapped around his bones, his organs righted themselves within. Becoming massive, the pianist was a red demon with black bullhorns. His muscles were gargantuan, his features ox-like. Delicately his fingers touched the piano, which became an organ of screeching human bodies. A new tune, full of the cold beauty of the darkest midnight in midwinter, floated over Tristan’s body, as his simulacrum of the real world became crystalline reality.

Tristan gasped at the touches of the demonness. She smiled and laughed seductively. The organ emitted slow haunting tunes. She kissed his flesh and he moaned helplessly. His nightmares real, his wishes satisfied, Tristan was filled with excitement and apprehension. She pinched his nipple and her long split tongue traced his jaw, his disbelief melted away and he accepted the impossible. Tristan reached up to touch her, but her hand intervened. Her strength was immense. Tristan remained calm, knowing and expecting her next move. She leaned over him, her body wrapped around his body, almost crushing him with her force. He did not struggle. Lowering herself, the demonnes bit into his neck. Her tongue massaged his flesh and took in his bitter blood. Tristan cried out, but soon sank into the pleasure of her touches. The demonnes shifted so that his aching member slid into her open mound. He did not enter her, but instead she pulled him in like a Venus flytrap. Her inner muscles pulled and pushed against him. Tristan was flooded in ecstasy. His body convulsed with pleasure and her body tightened with every movement. Unable to last, Tristan exploded. She pulled away from his bleeding neck, blood sprayed through the air and dripped down her body. She cackled and the pianist pounded from the living flesh of the organ a wild consuming song. The demonnes slipped from the bed. Tristan was left sweating on his bed, dark blood sliding down his flesh.

“Tristan . . .” the demoness called with a smooth seductive voice. “Tristan . . . its time you followed me Tristan.”

He sat up from his bed. She held out a black robe. Standing, Tristan walked to her and she wrapped the robe around him. The door from his room became framed in dark heaving flesh with hands gripping the door. The demonness held the knob of the door and the hands unlatched themselves. She opened the door slowly, a deathly scream poured from behind. She stood aside. Tristan stared into darkness.

His features were emotionless, but inwardly his dark brooding flared into a giant hurricane. Suicidal he stepped forward. Part of him resisted, the world tilted, he was falling. He glanced out his window and he could see children playing outside. Their features were twisted and grotesque as they danced dizzyingly in a circle. They were singing, “ring around the rosy, pockets full of posey, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” His own restraints let go, he began to run. The demonness laughed menacingly, the pianist wailed over the organ, which screamed hellishly. Tristan plunged into the darkness.

An infinitely frozen, forever biting blast slammed into his body, but he fell unfeeling. Icy crystals traversed across his flesh. His eyes were closed as he fell through the vast darkness. His breath burst from his lips in voluminous white clouds, weightless and empty. As he tumbled downward, arms extended, legs together, his heart beat slowly, his thoughts filled with the joy of a dangerous and haunting freedom. He was bound by nothing as he fell in the darkness of his soul.

Icy blasts of winds slowed his fall. They carried him in a spinning whirlwind and set him on a frosty stone floor, smooth as ice. He opened his eyes, all was dark but the blue-gray tiles he lay on. Standing, he pulled the robe tighter around him, feeling the cold for the first time. White crystals fell from his skin as he moved. The vacant darkness echoed with Tristan’s soft footsteps. His features stoic, Tristan had a ghost of a sinister smile on his face. His dark brown eyes were frozen in their glare. He could see her before she spoke, even through the thick eternal night that surrounded them.

“This way Tristan . . .” the demonness’ voice called from the darkness.

He ran toward her voice. The tile floors narrowed into a long passageway, which spiraled through the darkness. Tristan kept running, spinning through time with the ground. He moved through a disorienting labyrinth of twisting tiles, violent in their cold glare and surrounded by a wild laughter, spilling from Tristan’s lips. The path dropped suddenly, Tristan slipped and fell. He slid helplessly down. The tiles swerved and weaved through the incessant darkness. Tristan clawed at the ground. The tiles ended abruptly and Tristan was hurtled through the air.

“If this is my death so be it . . .” Tristan sighed.

The darkness exploded into flames. A loud rumbling roar shook the world. His heart beat loudly against his heaving chest. He closed his eyes, relaxed his body. The long black strands of his hair fluttered around him like a halo. Tears fled upward from the corners of his eyes. His lips parted slowly and a heavy breath escaped his panicked lungs.

“Tristan!” an unfamiliar voice called out, full of youthful masculinity, desperation, and fear.

A hand brushed his face, but when Tristan looked no one was there except strands of frail snowy white hair. Tristan was spinning widely through the air. Fire licked his sizzling flesh. Sweat rolled off of him in clouds of steam and his tears boiled as they crawled across his skin. Snagged suddenly from his fall, Tristan felt his stomach lurch in nausea. Rough, tearing hands gripped him painfully with abusive intent. They stole his body, touched and searched him, fed off the misery coursing through his veins. His inner darkness, brooding vehemently, spilled from his pores as black oil. The hands bathed in his tortured soul. Bodies, locked in stone and glowing red from light cast by flickering flames, held Tristan greedily against their ruined flesh. They took their fill before they lowed Tristan to the ground. He stood, trembeling, on crumbled earth before a massive pool of lava. He walked forward, peering into the distance over an expansive sea of convulsing lava. Tortured bodies floated through the glowing fluid, their skin forever burning and their screams never ending.

An island, massive and foreboding, emerged from the lava. Its shape twisted and stretched as it expanded explosively outward from the hot sea. Monstrous features appeared from dripping lava. Long black horns, twisting around a bony head like a crown, stand erect from solid black skin. Red eyes, fraught with hatred and peril, latched onto Tristan’s helpless body. Horns jutted out of its spin, and its back was covered in silver needle spins. Its flesh, black as midnight, looked like hard glossy obsidian. A long serpentine tongue slid over sharp razor teeth. The monster pointed at Tristan with a long gnarled arm. Jagged fingernails, covered in the demise of others, sent shivers down Tristan’s body.

“Tristan!” a hellish roar screeched. “From you shall emerge Necis, long lost Eversio of the outer-world! You shall bring this wretched world to an end, cleans these tortured lands of the filth spilled upon it by man, prepare the world for a new beginning.”

Tristan screamed, “What is going on!” He stumbled forward. His body was failing him. Collapsing, he fell through the hot air, his hair fluttering gracefully in the air. Frantically he broke his fall with outstretched hands. His blood boiled, his body burned, the darkness in his soul began to thrash. “WHAT . . . . . IS . . . . . . . GOING . . . . . . . . . ON!” Tristan fought to stand.

The demon roared, “AWAKE!” Fire surged from its mouth. Pulsing, wavy, fire shot through the air. Bright golden oranges and brilliant blood reds flickered through the air as the hungry tips of the fire whipped around the edges of the roaring column. A loud defining screech broke the fires cackle and the fire slammed into Tristan.

Faded, Tristan was disoriented. His mind and vision were filled with a black wavy smoke. A dark shadow strained against the fire, which streamed around Tristan, who remained standing and untouched. His hands were held out and straining, his eyes were rolling in heavy sockets, his lips were twitching. Tears spilled from his eyes, he was frozen in a voiceless scream. The demon laughed hysterically, suffocating Tirstian with a barrage of deliria. The air burnt Tristian’s lungs, he panted helplessly. Sweat, thick with salt, fell desperately from his skin. He shook desperately. The demon roared, the fire surged. The force pushed Tristan, his feet slipping through the black crumbling stone.

The shadow broke, the fire consumed him. Unconscious in seconds, Tristan heard before the darkness took him the strange voice filled with youthful masculinity, “Tristan . . . let me save you.”

His body hit the ground and the fire dissipated. Millions of hands, buried in the scorched earth, broke free of the black crumbling stone. They wrapped greedy fingers around Tristan’s body. Feeding off his soul, they tossed him and pulled him through the burning caverns of the demon.

Trapped, they chanted, “Lacricad our savior, Lacricad our lord, he has brought us Necis, forsaken Eversio of the outer-world.” As they pulled Tristan through a long lightless tunnel they chanted these words over and over. Tristan, fading in and out of consciousness, listen in confusion. He managed to open his eyes and he saw a blinding light. At that moment he heard them cry, “Free us! Free us! Free us from our hell! Free us from ignorance! Free us! Free us! Tristan!”

He was hurled from their slimy grip, he thought he was falling, but he wasn’t sure. He could have been souring straight to the clouds. He was spinning through the air, and he could do nothing to stop the inevitable pain from smashing into the ground. Nausea clutched his stomach violently, but even in is clouded state he fought the painful urge to vomit. Slowly he lost all consciousness.