[Fic] "Through a Nightmare, Darkly" (Eckart/Ed, NC-17)
Title: Through a Nightmare, Darkly
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Eckart/Ed
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Movie (duh)
Warnings: NONCON (this means rape!)
A/N: For fma_fuh_q <3 Also, Eckart's little dedication in the middle is credit to Margaret Weis/Tracy Hickman's Deathgate Cycle (Elven Star). I am not awesome enough to come up with that myself XD
When she had been very small, out in the Black Wood, her father had left her mother among a string of obscenities. "Godless witch" had been one of them, but she did not understand the reason for the epithet, nor later, when she did learn, did she care. The man had been a drunkard and a coward, and had not honored her mother in the way his religion had claimed that he ought. And so, she did not think of him. He was Lesser.
There were a great many Lessers in the world, she came to find out; people who spat at her. People who sneered. It was unthinkable that, for all the could her talents could bring them, they turned their heads to the side and crossed themselves, refused to even listen when she told them what could be. Ignorant idiots. She had been born with powers - not strong powers, no, but powers nonetheless - and somehow they expected her to swallow them down, that that would be better.
"You were born with the veil, this is one of its trials." Was all her mother would say, kept to herself in her cabin; adamantly refused to believe in her own greatness. This made her mother was Lesser, too.
Dietlinde swore that she would find people to take her seriously, and eventually she did - she had, in the never-smiling men of the Thule. They did not dream small, like the bow-legged villagers; they aspired to the Great and they saw that she was part of that. They understood when she worked her "magic" that it was nothing more than evolution, not blasphemy; man's natural tendency to grow on and upward to the divine. The lesser races that shunned her simply did not have understanding. They had not yet evolved to that level. And so they would take pity on them, rule over them, guide them, direct their lives from above. It was the only thing that made sense. The world, in their hands, was already unraveling.
Now, after so many years, she had found the key to their ultimate ascension - the Serpent coiled above, the words of heaven scrawled below, and modern scientific brilliance to join the two together: a vehicle more powerful than anything hitherto seen. Man, seizing his own future. She ran her hands over the lines of it and even with the engine quiet, felt its raw power thrum beneath her fingers. The project leader had finally green lighted it this morning, and his little crew was on standby. It was ready to fire at any time.
They were ready to go.
She called for a runner and bade him summon those in the society that she trusted, the elite of their upper echelons. If she failed - and there was still a chance, no matter how slight - that she might - she did not want her mistake to be broadcast throughout the ranks. The cream of the crop were truly enlightened, men of science; they understood that at this level it was still a hypothesis. Experimentation was nothing new to them. They charged her with the ancient texts and the words of power because her talents allowed her to manipulate them, but they did not expect miracles. She liked that about them. She would not be able to tolerate failure if it meant it would lessen their faith.
The society began to rouse itself, because she had commanded it, and she judged it time to retire. Preparations must be made; she must prepare herself as well. The ancients held wisdom, and they suggest she closet herself and purify. While she believed man had advanced past petty superstitions, even savage religions had seeds of truth buried within - sometimes easier to unearth for their husk’s simplicity. She slipped away to her chambers and found a bucket and cloth, stripped down and washed her body, both physically and symbolically removing impurities.
When she was dry again she sought out her robes, a simple costume of the whitest silks. It must have cost the Professor a small fortune, but they had spoken at length and he’d agreed it was necessary. She had studied the ancient texts too, for this symbolism. Barbarian logic, of course, often contradicted itself, but there were certain things that seemed obvious - the contrast between black and white, sun and moon, male and female. Syzygy, in all its forms; appearing over and over across all creeds and religions. Logic would dictate that such a powerful force, shaping the world in its past, would also have a part in its future. She took her hair down, let it fan out around her, and smiled at her reflection in the bedroom mirror - Female, elemental and powerful, cast in pure white as she wished it. Physically, she recognized that the color was a lie. But under the circumstances, in front of an audience, she wanted it to be known that her sacrifices were great.
She swept out into the hallway in a cloud of fine fabric, marched with escort down, down into the dungeon where the animals were kept. The prisoner, the foreigner, was still being hosed down, and she watched, unimpressed, as he writhed, shook his head in a vain attempt to keep the water out of his nose. Pathetic, weak, crippled creature. His missing limbs looked like holes; where one expected a proper man to be there was only blank ugliness.
“That’s enough.” She ordered. “Dress it.” The cripple had been supplied with his own robes - black, dark as midnight - but it was doubtful he could or would manage with only two limbs. His keeper rubbed him down with a cloth and unshackled him. As she’d expected, the boy tried to scramble away. She reached down and slapped him smartly across the face.
“Hold it still!” She reprimanded, and her guards belatedly moved forward to capture. The foreigner made a low, unhappy sound, like some kind of wounded animal. Pathetic. She sneered again and turned, not particularly wanting to look any longer at the bedraggled little creature. To think that once, she had thought Edward Elric might be one of their own! An emissary from Shambala! It still hurt her to think she had held him in esteem. In a way, it was like her mother all over again. Such incredible raw power, and such limited, unenlightened vision. She had offered him the world - both their worlds! - and he had fought her tooth and nail. The man had no understanding. His abilities were great, but he was only fit as raw material.
Though that fact alone sent a niggling thread of doubt through the back of her mind, one that she still had yet to dispose of. If he were truly a member of a Lesser race, how was it that he had been the one to provide the final piece of the puzzle? Even with her abilities, she had only been able to open the doors of Life and Death in direction. Men went in, but all that came out was corpses. And he had been the reason they came out again in the first place. She had interrogated him for days, trying to get him to reveal exactly what his secret was. She had watched him change the runes - that part was not surprising; she’d left chalk there on purpose once she had learned he was in the compound. But it wasn’t until his blood itself had entered the mix that the Gate had reopened, and that had been food for thought. They’d bled him half to death of course, trying to recreate it; they’d had no success. Bled others too, because a guard had heard the man laugh to himself about the blood of virgins. No, there was still something else at work, something she still was only half-guessing at. If she had opened the Gate to begin with, and he had completed what she had started, then maybe together, with their powers in harmony, it could open both ways. So she had designed the experiment thus.
And just in case the virginity was still important, she had arranged for him to remain untouched. Because while she had not been a maiden for many, many years now, it was apparent from interrogation that the boy was still not yet a man. Just another equilibrium of opposites.
Male and female, bound by nature to come together; and between them they would conjure the symbolic Life to balance out the Gate’s Death.
“Bring him behind me.” She ordered the guards, and swept upstairs to face destiny.
The thrum grew as she approached the door to the great chamber; it erupted into a roar as she stepped out into the light. Damn, a great deal more than she had anticipated - nearly the entire society was there, along with the rocket crew, the soldiers. She cursed whoever it was that had let the word get out, she had intended this to be a private experiment. Still, what was done was done, and in a certain light she was happy for it. All her followers were there, her admirers…they applauded as she raised her hands up, howled their love and praise; hungry for her acknowledgment.
She could not resist.
“People of Thule,” she called out, and the din tripled, quadrupled, then diminished to a hush. They were hanging on her every word, and she felt again, power. “For too many years we have been denied what we were born to inherit! For too long, man has languished!”
A litany of cheers erupted around her, agreed whole-heartedly.
“Too many years we have sought, and been denied!” She lifted her arms up, up, to the Great Serpent above and the watchers below, reveling in the feel of their eyes and their power.
“Now we go to our promised land! We go...to Shambala!”
The crowd screamed, hollered, wept around her, and suddenly she knew that she could do no wrong. This was not experiment any longer, it was fact. She had come, conquered, received the strength of the entirety of her people, and She. Would. Succeed.
A single voice cried out as they dragged in the foreigner, hand and foot bound behind him, and deposited him on his back in the center of the circle. She glared sharply into the shadows and the outburst was immediately silenced. There were no others. Someone had probably told the audience to remain quiet, else they were simply captivated by the magic of the moment. One standing and one prone, one in white and one in black, one male and one female…she smiled to herself and closed her arms, stretched a foot out.
It was time.
She walked slowly to the middle, took four steps to the north, four steps to the south, four east and four west. Paid heed to each cardinal direction, then the secondary ones as well. All the while she kept an eye on the shivering prisoner, hoping for once that he would not destroy her show. He did not seem inclined to escape, however, not even by wriggling; the guards had probably beaten him again. He seemed to hurt. She came to his side and knelt, fingered his frizzy yellow hair with interest.
She thought she heard the brief sounds of struggling from the wings, but that, again, was silenced.
In a perfect world, the ritual should have completed itself quickly; she had designed it with maximum efficiency in mind. She was willing to sacrifice, but she did not like to appear a harlot. However, simple anatomy necessitated she prepare the man; he could not complete his half of the circle without some kind of stimulation. She threw her robes wide and treated him to the sight of her, even ran her hands down his body.
His eyes went wide and he thrashed violently, whipped his head back and forth hard enough she could hear his neck creak. “No no no no no no!” He shrieked, and something screeched back in response from the sidelines, though muffled. Dietlinde narrowed her eyes, annoyed. They had forgotten to bind his mouth, which was vexing. At least they had remembered the knife. They could not proceed without it.
She pushed his robes aside matter-of-factly and straddled him, reached down between them and grasped his limp organ. She squeezed hard and he froze instantly, nostrils flaring.
“Quiet!” She ordered, and jerked in the manner that pleased men. He opened his mouth as if to protest and she seized a fistful of his hair, pulled hard.
“Quiet. Or you’ll hurt elsewhere.” She reiterated, and he was, though she was irritated to realize that what little progress she’d made was fading. Men could be such fickle creatures. But for this to work, they must be joined, and that could not be unless he was ramrod hard, or at the very least, remotely erect. She curled her fingers tighter and stroked with greater purpose, trying to tease some kind of reaction, at least. Possibly, he was one of those, perverted against nature; that could explain why he’d never known a woman’s touch.
Or perhaps his lack of knowledge was only because he was crippled and undesireable, for the longer she worked on him the firmer he grew, biological imperative taking over beautifully. Really, it was a shame he was Unenlightened. She could almost enjoy the way his thin hips shuddered beneath her control, the way his face contorted as she twisted her hands mercilessly over the head. For a helpless thing, beneath her, he was disarmingly beautiful.
He was also crying now, though it was apparent he was trying not to, and she found that strangely compelling as well. Such a powerful beast, laid low before true man. Laid low before her.
Some kind of commotion was happening to the side and it distracted her, distracted him too, which was simply unacceptable. She squinted into the shadows and tried to make out what it was. There was fighting at the edge of her vision, someone struggling to make his way into the circle - the rocket-man, it seemed, the young team leader.
“EDWARD!” He got out, managed even to get half a foot across the threshold, and the man below her spasmed alarmingly, nearly threw her off.
“Alfons!!!“ He gurgled, wild-eyed. “No, Alfons-“
“Shut him up!” She snapped, alarmed. She would not let this fall apart now.
“EDWAR-“
A resounding thud rang out, the sound of a heavy hand cracking against flesh, and then things were appropriately quiet again. The pale blonde fell back, was dragged off into darkness.
Edward stiffened beneath her and the light just faded from his eyes, like someone turning off a switch. He went completely limp against the floor, started going limp against her hand. She hissed and jerked harder, almost hard enough to leave a bruise. The body made a half-hearted attempt to rally, but the mind was too lost; she could only get him halfway erect again. Damn.
“He’s all right.” She said, not really caring if it was true or not. “Have him seen to!” She ordered into the darkness and shuffling sounds let her know she was obeyed. Edward’s expression did not lighten, nor did he respond much to her thumb over his perineum. Damn, damn, double-damn…she would have to resort to more desperate measures. Lips curled back in disgust, she bent her head down and swallowed as much of him as she could take.
That got a solid reaction, at last; his head flew back and he gasped, shoved himself even further down her throat. She choked on the intrusion and pulled her head back in a hurry, forced herself not to bite. He had swollen visibly again though, and when she stroked him she could tell he was fighting not to thrust back. Much better. She pressed her lips against him again and licked, murmured as if she were enjoying herself, and his flesh sprang to life beneath her lips.
She continued to mouth him for several long moments, tugged at his balls when she felt he was lagging. The audience made little appreciative sighs from time to time, until she finally pulled her head away and glared. She was not a harlot, she did not enjoy this depravity...HE was the pervert reacting so wantonly. Alright, perhaps she did like wresting noises from his lips. The shaky whimpers served to underscore her dominance, her importance.
Dominant and submissive, another syzygy brought to life, and here, as in nature, the Greater Man triumphed.
She pulled back and scrutinized him, trying to gauge how far along he was. He had turned quite red about the face and neck, and his body was tensed unbelievably, though in passion or hatred she could not be sure. Close enough, at least. She shifted until she was kneeling directly over him, took his hardness in one hand, and swung it up into alignment with her most private lips. Everything before had been in anticipation of this moment. This next move, this next act, was what would bring them completely together. It would become the circle's seal.
He shook his head. "Please--"
The word barely registered. Aware of her audience, aware of their attention and hope and need and power, she raised herself up.
For all that we've worked for. She thought, giddy and anxious.
"Don't--"
She slammed a hand over his mouth, and pressed herself down.
He slid in on a slow burn and she hissed, let herself drop by inches. Even wilting, as he was, the girth was a bit much for her to take unprepared. Should have touched herself, perhaps, but she would not do so in front of a crowd. This was a house of science, not a bawdy show. They were here to witness her mastery over the elements, over magic, over death itself; she was above petty fantasy. She was their salvation. She would be their deliverance.
She reached for the knife.
"My life for your life." She chanted, old words that she thought held power. She reached for the knife. His sudden struggling made a part of her tingle, shifted the hardness inside of her in rather pleasurable ways. She resisted the urge to rock harder against him and forced herself to keep with the status quo. She would not rut with this man, like a common, worthless mensch. She had a duty to perform.
"My life for your death." She said, and made a shallow cut across his clavicle. Blood beaded up along the scrape, and she smeared her other hand with it, got as much as she could. She bucked her hips a little - to keep him interested, of course - and then raised the blade to her own flesh, pressed the point against her opposing forearm.
"My death for your life." She continued, and made a cut. Shadowy figures gasped, she noted with pleasure. They were concerned for her well-being. She smiled and pressed her palm against that cut, let her own blood mix with Edward's.
"And my death for your death." She whispered, sealing it, and pressed their combined blood down onto the circle.
The magic circle lit up the instant her hand touched the ground and sent a rumble of power thundering right through the foundations. Voices gasped, squawked, shouted around her but none of them were important, none of them could compare to the singing in her blood that told her it was working, it would work, it was going to work. Edward trembled beneath her and she clenched down around him. Had to stay joined. Couldn't let him slip out. It was working, it was working-
- working, but not yet complete. The lines of power were lit all around them and the Great Serpent stirred above them, but the doors had not yet appeared. Had to take it farther, then. Somehow. She looked down at the knife, considering, then set it down at his side. If more blood must be spilt, she could always spill his - later. For now, she had a less permanent option.
She rose up and pushed back down again, clenching him as tightly with her inner muscles as she possibly could. He had softened a little but the vigor returned with friction, little screams escaped through clenched teeth. He hated her, she could see that, but his body still worshipped hers as any man's would - helpless to heat and pressure, forever creatures of instinct. She sneered at him and ground harder, and his eyes seized shut in revulsion.
She rolled her hips languidly, feeling the start of her own climax build low in her belly. Yes, even now, there was pleasure in this, and she spread her legs wider to angle more of more of him against that internal itch. Sweat was pouring down his face and she could see he had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood. How precious, trying not to. She smiled benevolently and brushed her fingers daintily across the maimed flesh; he released his death grip on his own lip and tried to bite her. She backhanded him expertly and took the opportunity to ride him harder. She would not let him escape her so easily.
He was getting close now, she could see it in his eyes - they were rolling back from more than exhaustion, his whole body was swelling. Good, good, she needed him to, but she had a duty in this joining herself. No help for it. She buried her own hand between her legs, just above where they came together, and the crowd did titter nervously at that. Fine, let them reel, let them gasp; the lines of power were throbbing around her, he was throbbing inside of her, her fingers were dancing over the one place she needed them, and she could go off at any time because she knew her body's weak spots, she had power over her movements, she had power-
Tight as she was around him, she felt the exact second he surged, twisted her fingers desperately around her own sweet spot to make herself come with him. So close, not quite, but she had to make it - YES. Yes, there it was, spike of pleasure straight through to the inside, and he jerked up as she squeezed harder, cried out. A bright flash went through her groin, and then through her spine, and he spasmed as well, screamed. Going, gone.
And the whole world went up in light, but not just behind her eyes.
She opened them again when the harsh flare died down, when the world behind her eyelids was back to something resembling darkness again and not red-hot searing. There was nothing but spots for a moment, and then her vision slowly resolved. Glowing ring somewhere above. Gray, stone floor lit below. And all around the blazing ley lines, but not so intriguing as what hung just above them, straight ahead. Impossibly imposing and impossibly porportioned, doors so dark so bright they were blinding - a comforting, familiar contradiction. The Gates of Life and Death.
Gates of all humanity.
She crowed her triumph and bolted, wrested herself off him and stumbled toward them, stumbled toward her salvation. All the secrets of the universe, finally close at hand; man’s final frontier laid right out before her. She pressed a shaky palm against one of the doors and shoved. The material was all textures at once, wood and steel and linen and water together, and the sensation almost undid her sanity. She jerked her hand back, stunned.
The doors remained shut.
What?
Something flickered out of the corner of her eye and she suddenly felt the world snap back to focus, shrink down to fit again. There was movement not too far behind her, and she turned on unsteady legs to recognize several figures fighting through the blazing light to get to her. To get to Edward, who was still lying chained to himself in the preternatural light. That was the rocket-man, and his battered face was lined with pure hate. The others were the Professor, his second-in-command, a soldier she recognized. Worry was written all over their faces but she could not understand what their mouths said.
It was Edward who caught her attention, gave her pause. It was the look in his eyes. As tired, as disgusted, as shaking and spent as he was, somehow they strangely held nothing but pity. He mouthed something at her, and her eyebrows went up.
"Why?" She asked, felt the words on her lips but only heard them in her mind. Something was wrong, she thought vaguely. The exchange was not working. The Gate was drawing everything from her, and giving nothing in return.
"What's not enough?"
Hands reached out to her from behind, and then it took her screams too.
The world was yellow and vacant, horrifyingly empty - except for the light, which was almost a tangible thing, and the darkness of the Gate itself. It had been with her for days - or maybe hours - or perhaps years. She could no longer tell. There were bright flashes, once - screaming colleagues, the Professor, even Edward and his rocketeer friend - but the images were little more than dreams, meaningless upon waking. Waking to endless nightmare, where day came with night and there was only one of each. She understood what Edward had meant now, and despaired of it.
Greater or lesser, meek or powerful, in the end all humans came out the same.
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Eckart/Ed
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Movie (duh)
Warnings: NONCON (this means rape!)
A/N: For fma_fuh_q <3 Also, Eckart's little dedication in the middle is credit to Margaret Weis/Tracy Hickman's Deathgate Cycle (Elven Star). I am not awesome enough to come up with that myself XD
When she had been very small, out in the Black Wood, her father had left her mother among a string of obscenities. "Godless witch" had been one of them, but she did not understand the reason for the epithet, nor later, when she did learn, did she care. The man had been a drunkard and a coward, and had not honored her mother in the way his religion had claimed that he ought. And so, she did not think of him. He was Lesser.
There were a great many Lessers in the world, she came to find out; people who spat at her. People who sneered. It was unthinkable that, for all the could her talents could bring them, they turned their heads to the side and crossed themselves, refused to even listen when she told them what could be. Ignorant idiots. She had been born with powers - not strong powers, no, but powers nonetheless - and somehow they expected her to swallow them down, that that would be better.
"You were born with the veil, this is one of its trials." Was all her mother would say, kept to herself in her cabin; adamantly refused to believe in her own greatness. This made her mother was Lesser, too.
Dietlinde swore that she would find people to take her seriously, and eventually she did - she had, in the never-smiling men of the Thule. They did not dream small, like the bow-legged villagers; they aspired to the Great and they saw that she was part of that. They understood when she worked her "magic" that it was nothing more than evolution, not blasphemy; man's natural tendency to grow on and upward to the divine. The lesser races that shunned her simply did not have understanding. They had not yet evolved to that level. And so they would take pity on them, rule over them, guide them, direct their lives from above. It was the only thing that made sense. The world, in their hands, was already unraveling.
Now, after so many years, she had found the key to their ultimate ascension - the Serpent coiled above, the words of heaven scrawled below, and modern scientific brilliance to join the two together: a vehicle more powerful than anything hitherto seen. Man, seizing his own future. She ran her hands over the lines of it and even with the engine quiet, felt its raw power thrum beneath her fingers. The project leader had finally green lighted it this morning, and his little crew was on standby. It was ready to fire at any time.
They were ready to go.
She called for a runner and bade him summon those in the society that she trusted, the elite of their upper echelons. If she failed - and there was still a chance, no matter how slight - that she might - she did not want her mistake to be broadcast throughout the ranks. The cream of the crop were truly enlightened, men of science; they understood that at this level it was still a hypothesis. Experimentation was nothing new to them. They charged her with the ancient texts and the words of power because her talents allowed her to manipulate them, but they did not expect miracles. She liked that about them. She would not be able to tolerate failure if it meant it would lessen their faith.
The society began to rouse itself, because she had commanded it, and she judged it time to retire. Preparations must be made; she must prepare herself as well. The ancients held wisdom, and they suggest she closet herself and purify. While she believed man had advanced past petty superstitions, even savage religions had seeds of truth buried within - sometimes easier to unearth for their husk’s simplicity. She slipped away to her chambers and found a bucket and cloth, stripped down and washed her body, both physically and symbolically removing impurities.
When she was dry again she sought out her robes, a simple costume of the whitest silks. It must have cost the Professor a small fortune, but they had spoken at length and he’d agreed it was necessary. She had studied the ancient texts too, for this symbolism. Barbarian logic, of course, often contradicted itself, but there were certain things that seemed obvious - the contrast between black and white, sun and moon, male and female. Syzygy, in all its forms; appearing over and over across all creeds and religions. Logic would dictate that such a powerful force, shaping the world in its past, would also have a part in its future. She took her hair down, let it fan out around her, and smiled at her reflection in the bedroom mirror - Female, elemental and powerful, cast in pure white as she wished it. Physically, she recognized that the color was a lie. But under the circumstances, in front of an audience, she wanted it to be known that her sacrifices were great.
She swept out into the hallway in a cloud of fine fabric, marched with escort down, down into the dungeon where the animals were kept. The prisoner, the foreigner, was still being hosed down, and she watched, unimpressed, as he writhed, shook his head in a vain attempt to keep the water out of his nose. Pathetic, weak, crippled creature. His missing limbs looked like holes; where one expected a proper man to be there was only blank ugliness.
“That’s enough.” She ordered. “Dress it.” The cripple had been supplied with his own robes - black, dark as midnight - but it was doubtful he could or would manage with only two limbs. His keeper rubbed him down with a cloth and unshackled him. As she’d expected, the boy tried to scramble away. She reached down and slapped him smartly across the face.
“Hold it still!” She reprimanded, and her guards belatedly moved forward to capture. The foreigner made a low, unhappy sound, like some kind of wounded animal. Pathetic. She sneered again and turned, not particularly wanting to look any longer at the bedraggled little creature. To think that once, she had thought Edward Elric might be one of their own! An emissary from Shambala! It still hurt her to think she had held him in esteem. In a way, it was like her mother all over again. Such incredible raw power, and such limited, unenlightened vision. She had offered him the world - both their worlds! - and he had fought her tooth and nail. The man had no understanding. His abilities were great, but he was only fit as raw material.
Though that fact alone sent a niggling thread of doubt through the back of her mind, one that she still had yet to dispose of. If he were truly a member of a Lesser race, how was it that he had been the one to provide the final piece of the puzzle? Even with her abilities, she had only been able to open the doors of Life and Death in direction. Men went in, but all that came out was corpses. And he had been the reason they came out again in the first place. She had interrogated him for days, trying to get him to reveal exactly what his secret was. She had watched him change the runes - that part was not surprising; she’d left chalk there on purpose once she had learned he was in the compound. But it wasn’t until his blood itself had entered the mix that the Gate had reopened, and that had been food for thought. They’d bled him half to death of course, trying to recreate it; they’d had no success. Bled others too, because a guard had heard the man laugh to himself about the blood of virgins. No, there was still something else at work, something she still was only half-guessing at. If she had opened the Gate to begin with, and he had completed what she had started, then maybe together, with their powers in harmony, it could open both ways. So she had designed the experiment thus.
And just in case the virginity was still important, she had arranged for him to remain untouched. Because while she had not been a maiden for many, many years now, it was apparent from interrogation that the boy was still not yet a man. Just another equilibrium of opposites.
Male and female, bound by nature to come together; and between them they would conjure the symbolic Life to balance out the Gate’s Death.
“Bring him behind me.” She ordered the guards, and swept upstairs to face destiny.
The thrum grew as she approached the door to the great chamber; it erupted into a roar as she stepped out into the light. Damn, a great deal more than she had anticipated - nearly the entire society was there, along with the rocket crew, the soldiers. She cursed whoever it was that had let the word get out, she had intended this to be a private experiment. Still, what was done was done, and in a certain light she was happy for it. All her followers were there, her admirers…they applauded as she raised her hands up, howled their love and praise; hungry for her acknowledgment.
She could not resist.
“People of Thule,” she called out, and the din tripled, quadrupled, then diminished to a hush. They were hanging on her every word, and she felt again, power. “For too many years we have been denied what we were born to inherit! For too long, man has languished!”
A litany of cheers erupted around her, agreed whole-heartedly.
“Too many years we have sought, and been denied!” She lifted her arms up, up, to the Great Serpent above and the watchers below, reveling in the feel of their eyes and their power.
“Now we go to our promised land! We go...to Shambala!”
The crowd screamed, hollered, wept around her, and suddenly she knew that she could do no wrong. This was not experiment any longer, it was fact. She had come, conquered, received the strength of the entirety of her people, and She. Would. Succeed.
A single voice cried out as they dragged in the foreigner, hand and foot bound behind him, and deposited him on his back in the center of the circle. She glared sharply into the shadows and the outburst was immediately silenced. There were no others. Someone had probably told the audience to remain quiet, else they were simply captivated by the magic of the moment. One standing and one prone, one in white and one in black, one male and one female…she smiled to herself and closed her arms, stretched a foot out.
It was time.
She walked slowly to the middle, took four steps to the north, four steps to the south, four east and four west. Paid heed to each cardinal direction, then the secondary ones as well. All the while she kept an eye on the shivering prisoner, hoping for once that he would not destroy her show. He did not seem inclined to escape, however, not even by wriggling; the guards had probably beaten him again. He seemed to hurt. She came to his side and knelt, fingered his frizzy yellow hair with interest.
She thought she heard the brief sounds of struggling from the wings, but that, again, was silenced.
In a perfect world, the ritual should have completed itself quickly; she had designed it with maximum efficiency in mind. She was willing to sacrifice, but she did not like to appear a harlot. However, simple anatomy necessitated she prepare the man; he could not complete his half of the circle without some kind of stimulation. She threw her robes wide and treated him to the sight of her, even ran her hands down his body.
His eyes went wide and he thrashed violently, whipped his head back and forth hard enough she could hear his neck creak. “No no no no no no!” He shrieked, and something screeched back in response from the sidelines, though muffled. Dietlinde narrowed her eyes, annoyed. They had forgotten to bind his mouth, which was vexing. At least they had remembered the knife. They could not proceed without it.
She pushed his robes aside matter-of-factly and straddled him, reached down between them and grasped his limp organ. She squeezed hard and he froze instantly, nostrils flaring.
“Quiet!” She ordered, and jerked in the manner that pleased men. He opened his mouth as if to protest and she seized a fistful of his hair, pulled hard.
“Quiet. Or you’ll hurt elsewhere.” She reiterated, and he was, though she was irritated to realize that what little progress she’d made was fading. Men could be such fickle creatures. But for this to work, they must be joined, and that could not be unless he was ramrod hard, or at the very least, remotely erect. She curled her fingers tighter and stroked with greater purpose, trying to tease some kind of reaction, at least. Possibly, he was one of those, perverted against nature; that could explain why he’d never known a woman’s touch.
Or perhaps his lack of knowledge was only because he was crippled and undesireable, for the longer she worked on him the firmer he grew, biological imperative taking over beautifully. Really, it was a shame he was Unenlightened. She could almost enjoy the way his thin hips shuddered beneath her control, the way his face contorted as she twisted her hands mercilessly over the head. For a helpless thing, beneath her, he was disarmingly beautiful.
He was also crying now, though it was apparent he was trying not to, and she found that strangely compelling as well. Such a powerful beast, laid low before true man. Laid low before her.
Some kind of commotion was happening to the side and it distracted her, distracted him too, which was simply unacceptable. She squinted into the shadows and tried to make out what it was. There was fighting at the edge of her vision, someone struggling to make his way into the circle - the rocket-man, it seemed, the young team leader.
“EDWARD!” He got out, managed even to get half a foot across the threshold, and the man below her spasmed alarmingly, nearly threw her off.
“Alfons!!!“ He gurgled, wild-eyed. “No, Alfons-“
“Shut him up!” She snapped, alarmed. She would not let this fall apart now.
“EDWAR-“
A resounding thud rang out, the sound of a heavy hand cracking against flesh, and then things were appropriately quiet again. The pale blonde fell back, was dragged off into darkness.
Edward stiffened beneath her and the light just faded from his eyes, like someone turning off a switch. He went completely limp against the floor, started going limp against her hand. She hissed and jerked harder, almost hard enough to leave a bruise. The body made a half-hearted attempt to rally, but the mind was too lost; she could only get him halfway erect again. Damn.
“He’s all right.” She said, not really caring if it was true or not. “Have him seen to!” She ordered into the darkness and shuffling sounds let her know she was obeyed. Edward’s expression did not lighten, nor did he respond much to her thumb over his perineum. Damn, damn, double-damn…she would have to resort to more desperate measures. Lips curled back in disgust, she bent her head down and swallowed as much of him as she could take.
That got a solid reaction, at last; his head flew back and he gasped, shoved himself even further down her throat. She choked on the intrusion and pulled her head back in a hurry, forced herself not to bite. He had swollen visibly again though, and when she stroked him she could tell he was fighting not to thrust back. Much better. She pressed her lips against him again and licked, murmured as if she were enjoying herself, and his flesh sprang to life beneath her lips.
She continued to mouth him for several long moments, tugged at his balls when she felt he was lagging. The audience made little appreciative sighs from time to time, until she finally pulled her head away and glared. She was not a harlot, she did not enjoy this depravity...HE was the pervert reacting so wantonly. Alright, perhaps she did like wresting noises from his lips. The shaky whimpers served to underscore her dominance, her importance.
Dominant and submissive, another syzygy brought to life, and here, as in nature, the Greater Man triumphed.
She pulled back and scrutinized him, trying to gauge how far along he was. He had turned quite red about the face and neck, and his body was tensed unbelievably, though in passion or hatred she could not be sure. Close enough, at least. She shifted until she was kneeling directly over him, took his hardness in one hand, and swung it up into alignment with her most private lips. Everything before had been in anticipation of this moment. This next move, this next act, was what would bring them completely together. It would become the circle's seal.
He shook his head. "Please--"
The word barely registered. Aware of her audience, aware of their attention and hope and need and power, she raised herself up.
For all that we've worked for. She thought, giddy and anxious.
"Don't--"
She slammed a hand over his mouth, and pressed herself down.
He slid in on a slow burn and she hissed, let herself drop by inches. Even wilting, as he was, the girth was a bit much for her to take unprepared. Should have touched herself, perhaps, but she would not do so in front of a crowd. This was a house of science, not a bawdy show. They were here to witness her mastery over the elements, over magic, over death itself; she was above petty fantasy. She was their salvation. She would be their deliverance.
She reached for the knife.
"My life for your life." She chanted, old words that she thought held power. She reached for the knife. His sudden struggling made a part of her tingle, shifted the hardness inside of her in rather pleasurable ways. She resisted the urge to rock harder against him and forced herself to keep with the status quo. She would not rut with this man, like a common, worthless mensch. She had a duty to perform.
"My life for your death." She said, and made a shallow cut across his clavicle. Blood beaded up along the scrape, and she smeared her other hand with it, got as much as she could. She bucked her hips a little - to keep him interested, of course - and then raised the blade to her own flesh, pressed the point against her opposing forearm.
"My death for your life." She continued, and made a cut. Shadowy figures gasped, she noted with pleasure. They were concerned for her well-being. She smiled and pressed her palm against that cut, let her own blood mix with Edward's.
"And my death for your death." She whispered, sealing it, and pressed their combined blood down onto the circle.
The magic circle lit up the instant her hand touched the ground and sent a rumble of power thundering right through the foundations. Voices gasped, squawked, shouted around her but none of them were important, none of them could compare to the singing in her blood that told her it was working, it would work, it was going to work. Edward trembled beneath her and she clenched down around him. Had to stay joined. Couldn't let him slip out. It was working, it was working-
- working, but not yet complete. The lines of power were lit all around them and the Great Serpent stirred above them, but the doors had not yet appeared. Had to take it farther, then. Somehow. She looked down at the knife, considering, then set it down at his side. If more blood must be spilt, she could always spill his - later. For now, she had a less permanent option.
She rose up and pushed back down again, clenching him as tightly with her inner muscles as she possibly could. He had softened a little but the vigor returned with friction, little screams escaped through clenched teeth. He hated her, she could see that, but his body still worshipped hers as any man's would - helpless to heat and pressure, forever creatures of instinct. She sneered at him and ground harder, and his eyes seized shut in revulsion.
She rolled her hips languidly, feeling the start of her own climax build low in her belly. Yes, even now, there was pleasure in this, and she spread her legs wider to angle more of more of him against that internal itch. Sweat was pouring down his face and she could see he had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood. How precious, trying not to. She smiled benevolently and brushed her fingers daintily across the maimed flesh; he released his death grip on his own lip and tried to bite her. She backhanded him expertly and took the opportunity to ride him harder. She would not let him escape her so easily.
He was getting close now, she could see it in his eyes - they were rolling back from more than exhaustion, his whole body was swelling. Good, good, she needed him to, but she had a duty in this joining herself. No help for it. She buried her own hand between her legs, just above where they came together, and the crowd did titter nervously at that. Fine, let them reel, let them gasp; the lines of power were throbbing around her, he was throbbing inside of her, her fingers were dancing over the one place she needed them, and she could go off at any time because she knew her body's weak spots, she had power over her movements, she had power-
Tight as she was around him, she felt the exact second he surged, twisted her fingers desperately around her own sweet spot to make herself come with him. So close, not quite, but she had to make it - YES. Yes, there it was, spike of pleasure straight through to the inside, and he jerked up as she squeezed harder, cried out. A bright flash went through her groin, and then through her spine, and he spasmed as well, screamed. Going, gone.
And the whole world went up in light, but not just behind her eyes.
She opened them again when the harsh flare died down, when the world behind her eyelids was back to something resembling darkness again and not red-hot searing. There was nothing but spots for a moment, and then her vision slowly resolved. Glowing ring somewhere above. Gray, stone floor lit below. And all around the blazing ley lines, but not so intriguing as what hung just above them, straight ahead. Impossibly imposing and impossibly porportioned, doors so dark so bright they were blinding - a comforting, familiar contradiction. The Gates of Life and Death.
Gates of all humanity.
She crowed her triumph and bolted, wrested herself off him and stumbled toward them, stumbled toward her salvation. All the secrets of the universe, finally close at hand; man’s final frontier laid right out before her. She pressed a shaky palm against one of the doors and shoved. The material was all textures at once, wood and steel and linen and water together, and the sensation almost undid her sanity. She jerked her hand back, stunned.
The doors remained shut.
What?
Something flickered out of the corner of her eye and she suddenly felt the world snap back to focus, shrink down to fit again. There was movement not too far behind her, and she turned on unsteady legs to recognize several figures fighting through the blazing light to get to her. To get to Edward, who was still lying chained to himself in the preternatural light. That was the rocket-man, and his battered face was lined with pure hate. The others were the Professor, his second-in-command, a soldier she recognized. Worry was written all over their faces but she could not understand what their mouths said.
It was Edward who caught her attention, gave her pause. It was the look in his eyes. As tired, as disgusted, as shaking and spent as he was, somehow they strangely held nothing but pity. He mouthed something at her, and her eyebrows went up.
"Why?" She asked, felt the words on her lips but only heard them in her mind. Something was wrong, she thought vaguely. The exchange was not working. The Gate was drawing everything from her, and giving nothing in return.
"What's not enough?"
Hands reached out to her from behind, and then it took her screams too.
The world was yellow and vacant, horrifyingly empty - except for the light, which was almost a tangible thing, and the darkness of the Gate itself. It had been with her for days - or maybe hours - or perhaps years. She could no longer tell. There were bright flashes, once - screaming colleagues, the Professor, even Edward and his rocketeer friend - but the images were little more than dreams, meaningless upon waking. Waking to endless nightmare, where day came with night and there was only one of each. She understood what Edward had meant now, and despaired of it.
Greater or lesser, meek or powerful, in the end all humans came out the same.