“Blameless Skies” (1099 words, not including title)
Stepping through the lidless scarlet eye, she is in ‘a-place-which-is-not-a-place’, somewhere other than reality; where dream-stuff is made and imaginations cavort with one another in limitless carnality.
Idols of Gods lie shattered amongst creeping vines which entwine like lovers amongst the broken pink-flecked cobblestones.
Upon a cerise lounge-seat reclines a human, his pure skin radiating menace and enthrallment in equal measure. Like an opening door inside empty lodgings, his words and energy lure her to know more, even though she knows doing so will be her end.
“You arrived not a moment too soon! This place bores me so, but I like revisiting past achievements.
“Let me ask: Which type of God denies you the lusts which you have always wished to slake; or the sensations which you can only dream about?”
“When I can give all that you desire, what use is Khorne, the so-called ‘Lord of Skulls’..?
“At my side, rivers of gore await your merest beckoning: Foes will quail in terror beneath your majesty, unheeding your peerless deathblow which panics their entire army.
“Friends shall throw themselves onto their own blades; not because they love death or hate life, but merely for a chance their exultant demises may catch your glance.
“What blight could Nurgle’s rotting corpulence bestow to dull the glory I proffer?
“An offer of life surrounded by dead flesh and maggotted decay? No! I refuse for one so blessed to be reduced to the level of my brother’s eaters-of-corpses.”
The courtyard walls of this ‘room-that-is-not-a-room’ shake with unbridled fury, irreparably damaging priceless paintings, statues forever broken by madness.
“What, then, of the originator: the God of Change? Constant inconsistency?!
“Why would anybody reject life singularly dedicated to realms of pleasure and exuberance?
“He offers a life allied to base sorcery, but is this trifle to be your allocation? Magic affords great power, yet exacts a steep price, neglecting vitality, sensation and emotion...all of which are necessary to feel truly alive.”
“Even should someone take my brothers’ allegiance, if any experience joy or fulfilment in their works, they nevertheless contribute towards me.
"You know this to be true. There is but one choice, for am I not a giving God as always promised?
"Glory in the new talents bestowed upon you. Yet, for every gift, there has to be a price:
“Most loyal maiden, deprave yourself in every way you crave...become more than you ever thought possible, although someone less than you always were...”
Her merest gasp of wonder at these possibilities is sufficient agreement for The Gift to latch upon her like the most determined paramour.
Although every nerve-ending and sense rebels at this initial violation, her next heartbeat welcomes the intrusions which invade the rest of her form.
Synapses quickly fill to overloading and (with no way to stop the empowerment even had she willed it to cease) bolts of electricity course through her body, contorting her limbs in every possible direction.
In spasming frenzy, muscles and bones continuously tear, break and reform under inhuman strain and she collapses to the marbled floor, screaming with ecstasy and agony in equal measure until unconsciousness robs her of sight and thought.
When vision and control finally return, it takes several moments to realise her talons have grown: now four feet in length, their new pearlescent lilac hues catch the pale skittering light, brazenly attempting to bedazzle and beguile even their owner.
She grins -perhaps a little too widely- at the thought this effect will have upon her foes.
Leaning upon new-formed limbs, she catches sight of her own reflection in the marbled fountain: three pupil-less jade eyes stare back, roaming across an image of armoured yellow skin, the several rows of needle-teeth which overfill her oral cavity and a face adorned with a crown of slender horns akin to the herbivore antee-lopes of Ind.
This is knowledge she never possessed whilst mortal, but it now lies amongst an intriguing archive of information already held by her new form.
As he flits between the tongues of this world, his voice is so clear and precise; she understands the hidden meanings behind the words of all races, not just their traditional diction.
Despite hearing the frantic carving of her claws which gouge and break the intricately carved floor as she stands, there is something inherently ‘wrong’.
A tiny part of her acknowledges that this is something she should take note of, but it is submerged beneath a tide of longing as his gaze locks with hers.
Although his lips do not move, her voice is not hers to command as she echoes his words: “Always -and forever- mine...”
Allegiance duly sworn, her new form -Sharessa- stands before her lover...her master...her mistress.
Incautiously ignoring any mental differences which have occurred, her eyes blink against the maelstrom of colours which now swirl around her, simultaneously calling her in two directions.
His soft voice touches her earlobe with feather-like delicacy:
“The option to the right offers an eternity at my side...things will change, but you will no longer care.”
“The option to the left returns you to where you once were, with a chance to now make a difference, but only thanks to me...”
The right doorway holds a scene of milky blue, where strange and unnervingly wondrous animals eagerly lap at the waters, before their eyes lose focus and they slump into pleasurable langour and indolence.
On the left, the life she left behind -full of torment and anguish- those she loved cut down around her. But her new form now offers more comforts and opportunities than she had ever believed possible and she approaches this second portal.
“There will have been changes since you left and the world will not be as you knew,” the God warns.
“Only by dying at another’s hand can you come back to me, whereupon each time we shall resume this conversation.”
Stepping through the sinister opening, she returns to the corpse-field she had departed:
Beheading her first eager opponent, she feels nothing as her razor-sharp claws shear his neck.
Moving faster, her entranced opponents fall to each blow, yet her limbs register no impacts.
Gore fountains from slashed torso’s and rent limbs; she smells the vitae’s coppery tang, but there is no dripping of the scarlet liquid upon her flesh.
Pausing, the grass and rocks beneath her naked feet are neither cool nor sharp; the wind which bends the trees does not cool her skin.
Stripped of the sensation of touch, she has now become as unfeeling as her God and she howls her loss, deprivation and self-loathing against the blameless skies.
Great stories so far, everyone!
As ever, the words of my tales are mine, but I can't lay claim to the concepts or inspiration.
There might be some punctuation mistakes here(?). If so, please let me know so I can put them right to make a better read for yourselves.
Urgently trying to trace any living relatives of Private Sam/Samuel "Jock" Wilson (Black Watch, No. 6 Commando, UK Army Service ID 2764432, died 10.06.44). Any info/suggestions gratefully received.
"Mockles! Pent on silpen tree, blockards three a-feening. Mockles! What silps came to thee, in thy pantry, dreaming?"
Please check out the HOES (Heresy Online Stories) threads and vote for the tales.
More feedback = better stories for everyone.
Last edited by andygorn; 03-10-12 at 10:25 PM.