Author note: So this was meant to be posted much later in the story, but it fit here too. I suppose. This one gets kinda weird, i think? The events of this chapter are obviously not taking place in the same time as the rest of the story.

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The room was dark. A vast chamber full of mysterious objects which had not seen the light of day in many centuries.

A tall, muscled figure peered at a large glass floor in the center of the room.

A fierce, silent snarl was upon his lips. His prismatic eyes shifted from one color to the next, his entire body taut, radiating violence the likes of which could tear apart mountains with its mere intensity.

A few times, it had.

With a head full of crimson colored hair and a single horn jutting out the side of his head, he cut a monstrous appearance.

His abnormally handsome face did nothing to alleviate the terror and awe one might feel in the presence of a man like him.

He roared suddenly, shouting in fury. He turned away in a rush, his hand radiating a harsh golden rays.

An instant later, that ball of scorching light was thrown out.

One of the walls, which could withstand a nuclear holocaust with ease, was incinerated.

A large hole was made, regenerating within seconds.

The man clenched his teeth, his breathing rough.

Again, He screamed inside his mind.  Another failure! Why, why can't I change anything? Why can't he just be better? Countless years of searching, trying to find the things I need, yet  I'm after finally acquiring them I'm unable to change a single goddamn thing that matters! 

He felt useless. How many people did he have to kill to acquire the power he'd just performed? How many untold millions were sacrificed to achieve his goal during that time? Even so, he can't do anything? Can't stop what he knew would happen? 

It was like some sick joke. And a cruel one.

Bane, you bastard, you were supposed to take them there and then. You were obviously interested, why didn't you just do as you were expected? If you just took them, everything would have been put off for at least several more years! Son of a bitch, if you hadn't died back then I would track you down right now and rip your bastard soul from your body!

It wouldn't have been hard. A mere lich was meaningless, weak. He'd done much worse to much more powerful beings than that... 

Nothing could appease his anger. Not right now. 

 A pair of delicate hands wound themselves around him from behind, embracing him warmly.

"That temper of yours is getting worse, I see."

A faint, feminine laugh.

"Beloved, I see no point to your efforts." That familiar angelic voice, soft and lilting, was once again whispering into his ear.

Nations would fall with that voice alone. And many had.

"No matter what you do, nothing will truly change. Every path you could possibly take will always lead you to me." She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder as if it were a special place just for her. These days it may as well be.  "Dearest One, why must you continue this foolishness? Am I truly so undesirable?" An unspeakable sadness could be felt from the woman, heartbreaking.

The young man, or so his features suggested, simple  tightened his fists in reesponse.

" Undesirable doesn't begin to explain the levels of revulsion I feel for you!" He spat.

Another laugh.

"So you say....but your body speaks a different story..."

Her hands slid down, unbuckling his pant as her two soft bulges pressed against his back.

And he couldn't do anything about it--his body reacted.

Even though he didn't want to, even though her touch sickened him, it wasn't his choice.

His mind, his heart, was unwilling. But his body didn't listen, didn't care.

It never did.

"Turn around." She murmured.

And he complied.

She was perfect in every way. Porcelain-like skin, tender and without blemish. Hair long and flowing, a light blonde. Cheeks which held a healthy rosiness, lips which were full and petal-pink.

She was tall, her legs long and slender. She was lithe, a thin waist that begged to be held...

She was exquisite. In every way, shape and form. Think of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. Even she would not compare to the one before him.

Because she was not mortal. She was beautiful in a way no other woman could be, every part of her seeming to exude a dream-like glow.

If you even just gazed at her you would be incapable of finding any other woman attractive for the rest of your life. Your mind would be full of nothing but that one glimpse.

Your every thought would be of how to please her.

She was a woman that would make you forget everything else but her. The world would lose color and fade away until only she would remain...

But he felt nothing for her. Nothing but hatred. Disgust. She knew that and yet still she smiled, lighting up the room with that one small movement alone.

The woman grabbed hold of his collar, bringing him towards her.

He could feel the warmth of her lips on his own, could taste her sweet, unique flavorr as she prodded his mouth open and slipped her tongue nside.

And he hated that, too.

She led him to a bed not far away and stripped him down.

Her hands reached out for him, roving along his body sensuously.

He couldn't help but let her. Couldn't stop her stop all.

She groped and licked and bit every inch of him. Her back arched, her naked form decidedly sinful to behold.

A series of  provacative moans arose, unending.

She made made him stand. Her legs wrapped around him, her arms pulling his head into her bosom while she called his name...

A name he wanted to forget.

He didn't know how long it stayed like this. It could have been hours. But with her, it was more likely to be days.

If they tired, however unlikely that situation may be, they'd still only rest for a minute and no more. Then they''d be entangled with one another yet again.

She was very nearly insatiable. Nearly.

He had many, many women in his long life. Too many to count. Sex itself was just another thing he had used to hate.

Even when he needed it to live, every woman was simply a means to an end. Sex was a tool for survival even though it just made him feel more dead inside afterwards. It forced him to remember things that he he denied even to this day.

He got over that hatred, with difficulty. He still never enjoyed it as much as his partners did, though. It opened too many wounds.

The significant women of his life helped him. Made him somewhat whole. Still fractured, yet not as broken as he was. Wounds have turned to scars.

Those scars were ripped open anew the first time she took him. Like this time. Like all the times before now.

And he never hated sex with any woman as much as he hated it with her.

Before it was his choice to have it. He could have chosen not to, could have chosen to simply lay down and die as that evil fire consumed him.

Instead of that he just got with any woman who would have him. Not that any ever refused. 

But here, with her?

It wasn't his decision. His choice. She wanted him, so she would have him. His body would stand at attention even though everything else wanted nothing more than to leave her.

He turned his thoughts away from that path. It never did any good. He would just become more pissed off than he already was.

They bed was in a state of disarray, obviously, as was most of the room now. It was thoroughly soaked with the stink of sweat.

She lay curled up next to him, a hand placed possessively over his chest as she kissed his neck. One of her fingers traced the serpent Mark on his arm. It wasn't always there, sometimes it moved.

The Marks were momentos left behind by them. As was his right. They were, after all, his most devout followers. These Marks, once a curse, were now a sign of their "loyalty."

The woman didn't rest long. Her movements become more erotic and intimate with every minute. She nibbled at his ear,  moving closer to him while she touched herself, wanting more. The warmth of her body mingled with his own, her voluptuous curves in full view.

He was ashamed. Felt used. He wanted to throw up, to push her aside. Yet right now, he couldn't.

She still used her authority over him.

Whether he liked to admit it or not, he was her slave.

Her plaything.

He hadn't felt like this much of a whore in a long time. There was no one who he disliked more, no one that he disdained more, than her.

....Because of her, his life was misery itself. No. This was his fate. Had been from the day of his birth.

"You thought of those women just a while ago, didn't you?"



Her lips once more rose at the corners.

She didn't really care. He knew her thoughts.

She got him in the end. Every other woman was gone and only she remained in his life. She won. Or rather, the game was rigged from the start.

"I don't see why you ever cared for them anyway." She said airily. "All of them turned their backs on you, only We stayed by your side."

Yes. And because of that they were all dead. 

Not a word of reply from him. 

...He wanted to kill her. His hands itched to end her life right here and now.

 But he wouldn't even if he had the chance. How many people could understand the feeling of wanting to kill someone so much that you would literally gnaw your hands out of chains to do it, but also know doing so would be something you would regret for an eternity?

Though don't miunderstand. If it was only her, he wouldn't care. However it wasn't just her. That was the problem. 

That was why no matter how much he reviled the woman, no matter how much he wanted to tear her limb from limb, he didn't dare to. 

He didn't talk or even look at her as he sat up. He just rose abruptly, standing at the foot of the bed,  wanting to take a shower. Maybe if he scrubbed hard enough he would get the feeling of her hands off of him.

He knew it wouldn't. It never did. It hadn't the last hundreds of thousands of times, at least, and so there was no reason to believe it would now. 

But it helped, he had to admit. The pain of his skin becoming raw and torn until it bled didn't make him any less resentful of every fucked up thing that happened in his life, but the pain did offer some small measure of reprieve from his mind.

Apparently she had other ideas.

" Leaving so soon? Come now, are you not up for another round or twenty?"

"I'm tired." 

"Again with the lies." She saw through him. "Sex is an art you've long since perfected, Dearest One. Don't tell me you're tired. You don't ever tire. Do you fear you'll break me, hm? But I'm not a normal woman, you know, so your concern is baseless. Or well, perhaps that's untrue now given how strong you've become. Although...being broken by you, I'd not mind. Still, I'm touched you care. But why not really let loose for once,  My Love?"  

She crawled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She liked doing that, going behind him like this. 

He felt her lips brush against his shoulder, the action causing a shiver to rise up in him--and not the good kind.

"I've told you, Aine, don't talk to me so familiarily like that." Irritation dripped from every word. " Me and you will never be that close. In fact, if I had my way, we would never see each other again in our lifetimes. Which for you and me, is very probably all of eternity."

Her nails dug into his skin. He could tell that she was mad. 

"You still just don't get it yet, do you? You're mine. You've always been mine. I love you so much....So, so much...And you'll love me too, eventually. Because we belong to each other. This is your fate. Accept it. "

He broke away from her. "I'd rather suffer in the pits of Hell."

"You really don't like me very much, do you?" Her tone implied a unspoken, for now.

"I can't stand the sight of you." He readily agreed.

"Then what"

There was no warning as she appeared in front of him. 

Her appearence made his breath stop for a moment. It had nothing to do with her beauty. The reason was something else entirely.

No longer was there the unspeakably bewitching and mature woman that he had just made love to.

Her face, normally so perfect that it inspired awe, was replaced by a different sort. 

Her featured were slightly softer, more child-like, even. But still  beautiful face, well-formed and pleasing to the eye. Breathtaking, anyone would agree. Doll-like. There was yet a hint of immaturity in this face, Youthfull and vibrant. 

The woman's hair became a darker shade of gold, her eyes a brilliant green. Even her body bacame slimmer, shorter too. Like that of a 15 or 16 year old girl still in the midst of the growing period of her life.

....A face as familiar to him as his own. More so. This body, this face, those eyes, they struck him right to the core of his being. They filled him with a plethora of bittersweet emotions that sent him reeling.

" Well? Does this form please you?" The voice, so different from the one he knew from memory, broke him out of the spell.

Instantly a fierce, unstoppable rage spread through him. 

His arm flashed out, fast as lighting, and seconds later he had the "girl" pinned to one of the walls by her throat. 

A gagging sound was issued, the girl holding onto the arm which had her trapped.

"Didn't I tell you already, Aine? Huh? Don't you ever use her face against me!" He snarled. "No more! I won't stand here and let you-- " 


The words were weak, a loving light entering her eyes. And it was then that he sensed something off. That gaze, the way she called out to him...

Horrified by what he was doing, he released his grip and caught her before she hit the ground.

He held onto her, kneeling down with her weak body in his arms.

"Livia?" He hesitated, hoping, dreading that this was some trick. This name, that was the one she used now. She, like him, threw her old one away.

Had he ever sounded more vulnerable than he did at this moment? No. Only when she was with him did he ever let down his guard. 

"Brother, It's me...She's gone." She smiled. It was so bright, blinding. He would never forget it.

"Livia!" The man exclaimed, voice breaking.

Her eyes were hazy, disoriented. But it was her. She was here. She was okay. She was safe...

He had to help her. He had to keep her here, before she returned. Somehow. 

He had to--

Again, like so many times before now, he felt another pair of lips meeting his own. He stilled, not moving an inch. His mouth tasted like ash.

"Brother, I missed you so much... "  

 Her eyes weren't the same as they had been just moments ago. They were contaminated with flecks of orange, looking at him with an obsessive light.

... She was different, now....

She lost herself to that thing long ago. They weren't seperate, they were one and the same.  It was one of the reasons she called herself this. 

He should have known that. But it didn't matter. She was still his sister regardless of how much she changed, that, at least, remained true. At her core she was the same as she'd always been.  He didn't care about anything other than that fact.

"Ah, brother, I love you so much...." 

That love was twisted. He was unable to bring himself to accept it. 

"You love me too, right?"

Never in the way she'd wanted him to.

"...No, of course you loves me more than anyone."

More than life. She was always his most precious person.

" ...Brother, did you miss me too?"

Every second of every day. 

He wanted to cry, but no tears came.  

"Yes, what a silly question, you obviously did. Hmph, that bitch, she'll never know you like I d--"

Pain flickered across her face, twisting it. 

And she was back.


She found it amusing. She liked making him suffer, so that she could later hold and comfort him after. It only made things more unbearable. 

"....I hate you. I hate you so much that it hurts." He forced out. 

" I know. But I still love you. And someday, you'll love me back."

" That'll never happen."

"It will." She spoke with confidence. " And I can wait for the day you do." 

"Bring her back...Bring her back to me! Aine!"

" Do you love me?"


"I see. Then I refuse."

He knew she would say that. He had this conversation countless times before. It always ended the same.

"Oh, don't sulk. Okay. Fine. I'll leave you two alone for a while. But you owe me,  Beloved. I trust that you understand exactly how you can pay me back for this..."   

She licked her lips erotically, then left. But she--the one he wanted--didn't awake. 

Aine kept her word, but only the bare minimum of it. Her jealously wouldn't let her do anything more than this.

 ....Lyle ran a hand along her cheek, wondering how everything became so messed up. How it all came crashing down.

"I'll fix this." A hushed whisper. 

He was tired of it all. He wanted to just stop and fade away, but he couldn't. He'd never leave her. He swore this to himself, and to her, long ago. 

" ... I'll fix everything..."



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