Naruto: prometheus
Title: prometheus
Author: gingeringfigs/ofphenwa
Synopsis: a man dies. and he lives. he is prometheus
prometheus
There was a cell deep within the earth, buried under layers of stone. It was kept hidden by an ever-twisting labyrinth of tree roots. Within the dark prison, a man was bound in chains and seals. He was deeply asleep, frozen in stasis of his own making. He had not aged a day since the day he willingly let himself be chained and cast into darkness.
The last person to know the location of the prison and the prisoner's true identity had already taken the secret with him to the grave. Ever since then, the dark secret of the man's existence was lost. But it mattered little to the sleeping man who would never wake, age or die.
The man's sleep was neither dreamless nor pleasant. His dreams were of slick blood, jagged metal shards, fire and brimstone. He warred endlessly with the behemoth as he was ground to dust and remade anew. Prometheus fought destruction itself.
Prometheus lost count of the years gone by, the number of times he had perished against the beast and the myriad ways a human body could fail. He could remember neither his name nor where he had come from. There was and would be no end to this eternal battle he had consigned himself to.
But for a short while, he had a reprieve. In those gentle fleeting dreams, he looked after a young child who was a balm to his tired and aching soul. He had tried to cling fiercely onto those moments and the precious child's name as hard and as long as he could but inevitably, his foe tore the dreams apart like gossamer threads. Prometheus plunged unwillingly back into the Sisyphean battle.
An eternity passed. Prometheus dreamed once more of the child, who was now longer a child but a young adolescent. Oh, how it both hurt and gave him joy to see that child had grown up so well in his absence. But there was too little time to talk. Prometheus could not stay with him, for the flames were already reaching out for the young man through him, keen to devour him. He threw the boy to the ground and he cried out in pain, staring at him in shocked hurt. It gutted him like no other blows he had received in the ages gone by. Prometheus turned to face the flames and burned like a supernova.
Yet he still lived. Another eternity passed. Prometheus wondered what became of the youth in a brief lull of the battle. He was lying against hard rock, his blackened skin flaking off to reveal new pink skin as he was remade anew, deadened nerves sparking alive in a flurry of hot agony. He couldn't remember what the boy's name had been, but the word carved into the flesh of his forearm must definitely be the correct name, for he always repeatedly cut it into his arm each time he was remade, long after he had already forgotten why he did it. It was unexplainable, but it felt right and important. He wanted to see him again.
Another millennia. The word on his arm was now carved into his very soul after countless remakings and Prometheus no longer remembered how he came to have it imprinted on his body. For all he knew, it had always been part of his body. Prometheus also knew that he would never surrender because he still had someone to fight for. He knew down to his core that if he ever gave in, that person was going to die. He never was going to let that happen, no matter how many times he was killed and remade. The beast snarled and cut him in twain with a sharp claw. He died. And he lived.
Another eon. Through out the eons of constant fighting, deaths and rebirths, Prometheus could barely remember anything other than how to kill, fight and the word on his arm. He couldn't remember what the word referred to but he still recited it to himself like a mantra. After all, it was embedded deep on his body with his own hand and that was important. Prometheus stared at the stark red lines that formed the word on his arm as he waited for his mangled throat to stop bleeding and heal. His ruined vocal chords mended enough for him to whisper the word like a prayer and it tasted sweet unlike the taste of iron in his mouth.
His clothes mended themselves anew every time Prometheus was remade. They were both his armour and weapon. When he ran out of metal weapons, he simply tore his cloak into thin strips of cloth and channelled his chakra into them, making the cloth strips as stiff as steel and sharp enough to cut air. He wielded the improvised weapons like flexible swords. When Prometheus had to defend, he would imbue the remaining part of his cloak and whip it around himself to create a shield. Anything and everything could be used as a weapon. Even his own blood could become explosives, poison or even blades through chakra manipulation and seal work. In his struggles against the behemoth, Prometheus too had become a monster in his own way, even more so than he had ever been.
Ironically, his hardest battle was not with the beast but with his shadow given form. A reflection of him, it possessed all of his skills and intelligence, making for a very difficult and protracted fight that sapped Prometheus's energy. So they drew to a stalemate opposite each other. His dark-eyed twin asked, "Do you know who I am?"
"Should I?" Prometheus warily questioned, wondering whether it was the beast itself. The shadow's answering smile was sharp and cold. He said, "No, you would not. You have already lost everything. But to satisfy your curiosity, I am the remnant of your hatred given form thanks to your eternal foe."
Prometheus did not know that he had such strong emotions that could form into a sentient being. He frowned, sensing something off about the situation. Before he could realise what it was, his shadow attacked him once again. This time, the fight was bloodier and more vicious as they started fighting dirty, seeking to take the tiniest edge over each other.
But as they fought, Prometheus started to think. If his current enemy was indeed a remnant of his lost memories and emotions, why did he not appear before until now? Was there a limitation to his existence that his shadow hid from him? How would the shadow benefit from his defeat when Prometheus would not die?
The answer finally came to him. Making a split decision, Prometheus dropped his guard and allowed his shadow to hit him with his own weapon. He never knew just how much it hurt to be hit with that blue ball of spiralling chakra that shredded his flesh. Spitting blood, he gripped his shadow's arm tightly, preventing him from pulling his hand out of his chest and said, "It's your loss. When I die, I will forget you and you will never exist."
The shadow's face was cold. As he began to flake away, he said, "I may be defeated, as long your hate continues to exist, I will return." Prometheus shook his head, "No, I will forget my hate and it will cease to exist like all my memories. You can rest now."
The shadow seemed surprised and it wryly said, "I do not envy you. You have a long journey ahead and it will be painful."
"So be it." Prometheus finally let go of the shadow's arm and he dispersed into bright light that filled his vision. Prometheus closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he no longer had a hole in his chest or even remembered that he had died by his own hand.
Once in an eternity when the beast rested, Prometheus would be pulled into a rolling green meadow where the air smelled of freshly cut grass and rain instead of smoke and sulphur. It wasn't his first time in the meadow but he could never remember the countless visits he had made before. The slight breeze murmured a faint lullaby in his ear and a fragment of his old self came back to Prometheus.
The word's significance on his arm was renewed with clarity and he treasured it. Prometheus still couldn't remember his name but that was fine. As long as he knew what the word on his arm meant; it was enough for him. But all good things must come to an end. When the beast awoke once more (always too soon), the meadow burned into ash and, he too, burned. When Prometheus woke once more, reconstituted from ashes, he no longer remembered the meadow. Only the faint lullaby remained and it faded in the echo of the beast's roar. The word on his arm remained in raised scarlet scars (always) and Prometheus remembered.
If Prometheus had been able to stay longer in the meadow, he would have seen the youth he protected so long ago fade into existence like a mirage. He would have seen how the boy had matured into a handsome young man on the cusp of adulthood. Prometheus would have marvelled at the beauty of the man's features. It would also have been odd and thrilling for him, seeing how much of the child still remained and how much had changed, and yet how comfortingly familiar he was still. Perhaps, if Prometheus had been able to stay, he could have spoken with the man but maybe, it was better this way. For what could he talk about? He only knew death and pain and he did not want to bring either to the beautiful young man.
Once a very long time ago, Prometheus had found himself sitting at a table with a plate of food in front of him. A woman with long blood crimson hair emerged from the door and sat next to him. She had a hauntingly familiar face and she asked him how the food was. Prometheus stared at the woman, not knowing why she was so familiar. The woman crinkled her nose and said, "Why don't you take a break? You've been up for too long last night, weren't you? Go and sleep."
Prometheus slowly nodded, indeed feeling very tired. The woman smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder. He could do with a break…but no. He couldn't rest now. Grabbing the knife off the table, he quickly slit the woman's neck before she could touch him. No blood appeared, instead, red chakra spilled from the deep cut and the gentle expression on the woman's face transformed into a snarl. Her nails sharpened into claws as her teeth grew into fangs. Growling, the beast in disguise eviscerated him with its hand before he could blink.
Prometheus laughed as he gripped the beast's delicate wrist hard enough to feel bones grind under pale skin and stabbed it with the knife in its chest, amused by the queer, violent domesticity of it all. The last thing he saw before the beast tore his neck out with its sharp teeth was the beast's furious expression. Prometheus never saw the woman again and didn't bother to ask why the beast had tried to deceive him through such an illusion. He had already forgotten.
He was in a flowering golden green meadow with endless blue skies. Prometheus still could not remember the previous times he had been here before but this time, it was different. The boy Ganymede (it was a very old name snatched from somewhere beyond but still appropriate, he knew, but true names have power and he did not want to give the beast control over the boy) was there. He couldn't help but smile, glad to see him. As the boy - no, he was now a young man - stumbled closer to him with a small hopeful smile, Prometheus took precious moments to gaze at him, taking in his new appearance and trying to commit it to his fragmented memory and re-associating him with the word in the crook of his elbow.
Time was molasses-slow, a pleasant golden interlude as young Ganymede in his arms embraced him. Prometheus was unused to such gentle overtures; shy and sweet intimate touches that soothed the monster in him. At first he did not know what to do, far too used to wrecking violence and bloodshed. He did not want to hurt him. But apparently, his body already knew what to do. As one hand shifted aside the layers of clothes on golden Ganymede's body, Prometheus tilted the youth's head up to kiss him with a gentleness he did not know he still possessed.
Ganymede clutched at him, sighing into his mouth as he easily, willingly, reciprocated with clumsy but charming enthusiasm. Prometheus caressed newly bared skin that felt silken smooth under his hands and it was a wondrous gift. He could not help but lower his head to press kisses to golden skin, each one of them a silent prayer.
For the first time, Prometheus did not use his cloak as a weapon. Instead, he used it to cushion the weight of both their bodies as they lay down on the cloak. Flowers crushed beneath their weight released their fragrant perfume, creating a heady mix with the ever-present scent of grass and rain. Ganymede bloomed like a flower beneath him with his brilliant colours in the sunlight. Prometheus was captivated. When he wrapped his hand around him on a hazy instinctive whim, Ganymede gasped and curled in closer, stifling his breathy cries by biting his red lips but still whining in the back of his throat behind clenched teeth. Emboldened and drunk on Ganymede's responses, Prometheus chuckled and stole a kiss from those soft lips as he firmly stroked.
Ganymede soon fell apart in his hands with a soft whimper. As he panted for breath, Prometheus gazed at his parted red lips and felt like kissing them again. He was greatly surprised and, to be honest, quite aroused when Ganymede offered more. Again, his body moved for him. He gently pressed white-slicked fingers into pink flesh, his mouth going dry at the tight heat. Ganymede impatiently urged him on and Prometheus could do naught but obey.
When Prometheus finally entered Ganymede, he was nearly overwhelmed by pleasure, so different from what he was used to. But he managed to keep his control and focused all his attention on his lover, greedily taking in his every response. Ganymede was even more captivating now in his throes of pleasure, his golden hair shining brightly in his shadow as he slaked his desires. He lowered his head onto his arms, exposing his elegant nape and the tempting curve of his shoulders. Prometheus wrapped his hand around Ganymede and began to bring him to climax as he leaned down to nip his tempting neck, bruising tender flesh with his sharp teeth. Ganymede moaned.
Soon, his young lover cried out as he climaxed. His body shuddered and tightened around him, unerringly bringing Prometheus close to the brink. Biting down on Ganymede's shoulder to stifle his sounds, he firmly held slender hips and thrust deep into his pliant lover before spilling his seed in him as his vision and thoughts went white.
Prometheus woke up in the midst of a battlefield, sweet memories already fading as quickly as the fragrance of flowers amid the stench of iron and rot. Feeling more refreshed than usual, he immediately sought cover and began to prepare for another battle. He felt confident about this round.
Prometheus would not know or remember it, but eventually, Ganymede stopped visiting the green meadow. He too stopped visiting the green meadow.
One day, the battlefield changed into a huge dark cavern. The roof was too high up for Prometheus to see in the dim light and the behemoth flickered red from behind steel bars at the end of the cave. Beneath his feet, dark still water showed his reflection like a perfect mirror as he walked on top of it. The air was stagnant and had a muddy, watery odour. His clothes soon became damp with chilled humidity and stuck to his skin.
Prometheus finally stood in front of the cage and saw faded seal that kept the doors closed. He did not touch the seal, warily standing at a safe distance away from the bars as he watched the flickering red form of the giant move closer to the bars. Its fangs were larger than him and its eyes shone like garnets in the dark. The two enemies took their measure of each other. The beast's voice rumbled like an earthquake, "Why do you fight when you have nothing?"
Taken by surprise at the fact that the beast had asked him a question and by the question itself, Prometheus was silent. It was a good question, one he had never really thought to ask. The beast waited for his answer, its tails swaying lazily behind it. Prometheus thought carefully but came up with a blank. Trying to buy himself more time, he slowly paced the wet floor and crossed his arms as he sought an answer.
As he did so, he felt something uneven in the crook of his elbow. Wondering what it was, he stopped and undid the sleeve cords to pull up his dark blue sleeve. There was a word carved into the crook of his elbow. As he stared at the angry red lines, he finally knew his answer. Turning back to the beast, he said, "I continue to fight because I have someone to protect."
The beast considered his answer. It rose to its paws and slinked closer to the bars, its chakra radiating off its body in waves of heat as though it was a furnace. Prometheus was surprised that the water did not boil despite the heat. The beast spoke, "So you fight not for yourself but for the sake of another. This is a thankless and unrewarding situation you have put yourself in, for they do not know of your existence and will not thank you. Why do you continue to persist then?"
"Because I must. As long they can live happily, I am satisfied with my fate. I know nothing else." Prometheus firmly replied, standing tall before the giant. The great demon snorted derisively, "So you are a stubborn, hopeless fool. Irritating. Sickening. I cannot respect such foolishness!"
The beast slammed its claws against the door with a loud clang but the seal held firm. "Tch." It laid down on top of the water, resting its head on its legs. It continued, "But you are strong. You have continued to oppose me all this while and never gave in despite your numerous failures and the toll it took upon you. You are no craven despite your stupidity."
Prometheus remained silent, half understanding what it said through a faint haze of déjà vu roused by its words. The red beast seemed to calm as it watched him from behind the bars. It spoke again, "I could do worse than having you as my new host. You have given me a good fight of the likes I have not experienced for millennia. I will aid you in your battles as long as you allow me to take a reprieve from your dreary prison into the world of men. Do you agree?"
Prometheus pondered the offer carefully before he said, "Swear to me that you will never hurt the person I fight for. Swear that you will not abuse my trust in you and I will let you free."
"I swear on my nine tails." The beast spoke. Satisfied, Prometheus stepped forward and pulled off the seal. The doors creaked open without fanfare and the beast padded towards him. It stopped and loomed over him with its nine tails swaying behind it. It said, "I will now uphold the end of my deal. Brace yourself."
The beast lowered its head and it bent its legs into a low crouch before it leapt forward, with nary a ripple over still water and into Prometheus's chest, turning into a mass of turbulent dark red chakra that scorched him from inside out. Prometheus collapsed, unable to take the sudden strain as his body flamed incandescent white in the violent union of man and demon. He gritted his teeth, shoring up his meagre human chakra against the roiling mass of foreign poisonous chakra that threatened to overwhelm his body and mind. But it was far too much. Consciousness crumpling under sheer overload, Prometheus sank into the deep blue waters.
He dreamed of a green meadow.
Fin.
A/N: This is sort of a sequel/ side-story to " The End of A Dream". So you might want to read that after this, if you haven't read it.
Author: gingeringfigs/ofphenwa
Synopsis: a man dies. and he lives. he is prometheus
prometheus
There was a cell deep within the earth, buried under layers of stone. It was kept hidden by an ever-twisting labyrinth of tree roots. Within the dark prison, a man was bound in chains and seals. He was deeply asleep, frozen in stasis of his own making. He had not aged a day since the day he willingly let himself be chained and cast into darkness.
The last person to know the location of the prison and the prisoner's true identity had already taken the secret with him to the grave. Ever since then, the dark secret of the man's existence was lost. But it mattered little to the sleeping man who would never wake, age or die.
The man's sleep was neither dreamless nor pleasant. His dreams were of slick blood, jagged metal shards, fire and brimstone. He warred endlessly with the behemoth as he was ground to dust and remade anew. Prometheus fought destruction itself.
Prometheus lost count of the years gone by, the number of times he had perished against the beast and the myriad ways a human body could fail. He could remember neither his name nor where he had come from. There was and would be no end to this eternal battle he had consigned himself to.
But for a short while, he had a reprieve. In those gentle fleeting dreams, he looked after a young child who was a balm to his tired and aching soul. He had tried to cling fiercely onto those moments and the precious child's name as hard and as long as he could but inevitably, his foe tore the dreams apart like gossamer threads. Prometheus plunged unwillingly back into the Sisyphean battle.
An eternity passed. Prometheus dreamed once more of the child, who was now longer a child but a young adolescent. Oh, how it both hurt and gave him joy to see that child had grown up so well in his absence. But there was too little time to talk. Prometheus could not stay with him, for the flames were already reaching out for the young man through him, keen to devour him. He threw the boy to the ground and he cried out in pain, staring at him in shocked hurt. It gutted him like no other blows he had received in the ages gone by. Prometheus turned to face the flames and burned like a supernova.
Yet he still lived. Another eternity passed. Prometheus wondered what became of the youth in a brief lull of the battle. He was lying against hard rock, his blackened skin flaking off to reveal new pink skin as he was remade anew, deadened nerves sparking alive in a flurry of hot agony. He couldn't remember what the boy's name had been, but the word carved into the flesh of his forearm must definitely be the correct name, for he always repeatedly cut it into his arm each time he was remade, long after he had already forgotten why he did it. It was unexplainable, but it felt right and important. He wanted to see him again.
Another millennia. The word on his arm was now carved into his very soul after countless remakings and Prometheus no longer remembered how he came to have it imprinted on his body. For all he knew, it had always been part of his body. Prometheus also knew that he would never surrender because he still had someone to fight for. He knew down to his core that if he ever gave in, that person was going to die. He never was going to let that happen, no matter how many times he was killed and remade. The beast snarled and cut him in twain with a sharp claw. He died. And he lived.
Another eon. Through out the eons of constant fighting, deaths and rebirths, Prometheus could barely remember anything other than how to kill, fight and the word on his arm. He couldn't remember what the word referred to but he still recited it to himself like a mantra. After all, it was embedded deep on his body with his own hand and that was important. Prometheus stared at the stark red lines that formed the word on his arm as he waited for his mangled throat to stop bleeding and heal. His ruined vocal chords mended enough for him to whisper the word like a prayer and it tasted sweet unlike the taste of iron in his mouth.
His clothes mended themselves anew every time Prometheus was remade. They were both his armour and weapon. When he ran out of metal weapons, he simply tore his cloak into thin strips of cloth and channelled his chakra into them, making the cloth strips as stiff as steel and sharp enough to cut air. He wielded the improvised weapons like flexible swords. When Prometheus had to defend, he would imbue the remaining part of his cloak and whip it around himself to create a shield. Anything and everything could be used as a weapon. Even his own blood could become explosives, poison or even blades through chakra manipulation and seal work. In his struggles against the behemoth, Prometheus too had become a monster in his own way, even more so than he had ever been.
Ironically, his hardest battle was not with the beast but with his shadow given form. A reflection of him, it possessed all of his skills and intelligence, making for a very difficult and protracted fight that sapped Prometheus's energy. So they drew to a stalemate opposite each other. His dark-eyed twin asked, "Do you know who I am?"
"Should I?" Prometheus warily questioned, wondering whether it was the beast itself. The shadow's answering smile was sharp and cold. He said, "No, you would not. You have already lost everything. But to satisfy your curiosity, I am the remnant of your hatred given form thanks to your eternal foe."
Prometheus did not know that he had such strong emotions that could form into a sentient being. He frowned, sensing something off about the situation. Before he could realise what it was, his shadow attacked him once again. This time, the fight was bloodier and more vicious as they started fighting dirty, seeking to take the tiniest edge over each other.
But as they fought, Prometheus started to think. If his current enemy was indeed a remnant of his lost memories and emotions, why did he not appear before until now? Was there a limitation to his existence that his shadow hid from him? How would the shadow benefit from his defeat when Prometheus would not die?
The answer finally came to him. Making a split decision, Prometheus dropped his guard and allowed his shadow to hit him with his own weapon. He never knew just how much it hurt to be hit with that blue ball of spiralling chakra that shredded his flesh. Spitting blood, he gripped his shadow's arm tightly, preventing him from pulling his hand out of his chest and said, "It's your loss. When I die, I will forget you and you will never exist."
The shadow's face was cold. As he began to flake away, he said, "I may be defeated, as long your hate continues to exist, I will return." Prometheus shook his head, "No, I will forget my hate and it will cease to exist like all my memories. You can rest now."
The shadow seemed surprised and it wryly said, "I do not envy you. You have a long journey ahead and it will be painful."
"So be it." Prometheus finally let go of the shadow's arm and he dispersed into bright light that filled his vision. Prometheus closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he no longer had a hole in his chest or even remembered that he had died by his own hand.
Once in an eternity when the beast rested, Prometheus would be pulled into a rolling green meadow where the air smelled of freshly cut grass and rain instead of smoke and sulphur. It wasn't his first time in the meadow but he could never remember the countless visits he had made before. The slight breeze murmured a faint lullaby in his ear and a fragment of his old self came back to Prometheus.
The word's significance on his arm was renewed with clarity and he treasured it. Prometheus still couldn't remember his name but that was fine. As long as he knew what the word on his arm meant; it was enough for him. But all good things must come to an end. When the beast awoke once more (always too soon), the meadow burned into ash and, he too, burned. When Prometheus woke once more, reconstituted from ashes, he no longer remembered the meadow. Only the faint lullaby remained and it faded in the echo of the beast's roar. The word on his arm remained in raised scarlet scars (always) and Prometheus remembered.
If Prometheus had been able to stay longer in the meadow, he would have seen the youth he protected so long ago fade into existence like a mirage. He would have seen how the boy had matured into a handsome young man on the cusp of adulthood. Prometheus would have marvelled at the beauty of the man's features. It would also have been odd and thrilling for him, seeing how much of the child still remained and how much had changed, and yet how comfortingly familiar he was still. Perhaps, if Prometheus had been able to stay, he could have spoken with the man but maybe, it was better this way. For what could he talk about? He only knew death and pain and he did not want to bring either to the beautiful young man.
Once a very long time ago, Prometheus had found himself sitting at a table with a plate of food in front of him. A woman with long blood crimson hair emerged from the door and sat next to him. She had a hauntingly familiar face and she asked him how the food was. Prometheus stared at the woman, not knowing why she was so familiar. The woman crinkled her nose and said, "Why don't you take a break? You've been up for too long last night, weren't you? Go and sleep."
Prometheus slowly nodded, indeed feeling very tired. The woman smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder. He could do with a break…but no. He couldn't rest now. Grabbing the knife off the table, he quickly slit the woman's neck before she could touch him. No blood appeared, instead, red chakra spilled from the deep cut and the gentle expression on the woman's face transformed into a snarl. Her nails sharpened into claws as her teeth grew into fangs. Growling, the beast in disguise eviscerated him with its hand before he could blink.
Prometheus laughed as he gripped the beast's delicate wrist hard enough to feel bones grind under pale skin and stabbed it with the knife in its chest, amused by the queer, violent domesticity of it all. The last thing he saw before the beast tore his neck out with its sharp teeth was the beast's furious expression. Prometheus never saw the woman again and didn't bother to ask why the beast had tried to deceive him through such an illusion. He had already forgotten.
He was in a flowering golden green meadow with endless blue skies. Prometheus still could not remember the previous times he had been here before but this time, it was different. The boy Ganymede (it was a very old name snatched from somewhere beyond but still appropriate, he knew, but true names have power and he did not want to give the beast control over the boy) was there. He couldn't help but smile, glad to see him. As the boy - no, he was now a young man - stumbled closer to him with a small hopeful smile, Prometheus took precious moments to gaze at him, taking in his new appearance and trying to commit it to his fragmented memory and re-associating him with the word in the crook of his elbow.
Time was molasses-slow, a pleasant golden interlude as young Ganymede in his arms embraced him. Prometheus was unused to such gentle overtures; shy and sweet intimate touches that soothed the monster in him. At first he did not know what to do, far too used to wrecking violence and bloodshed. He did not want to hurt him. But apparently, his body already knew what to do. As one hand shifted aside the layers of clothes on golden Ganymede's body, Prometheus tilted the youth's head up to kiss him with a gentleness he did not know he still possessed.
Ganymede clutched at him, sighing into his mouth as he easily, willingly, reciprocated with clumsy but charming enthusiasm. Prometheus caressed newly bared skin that felt silken smooth under his hands and it was a wondrous gift. He could not help but lower his head to press kisses to golden skin, each one of them a silent prayer.
For the first time, Prometheus did not use his cloak as a weapon. Instead, he used it to cushion the weight of both their bodies as they lay down on the cloak. Flowers crushed beneath their weight released their fragrant perfume, creating a heady mix with the ever-present scent of grass and rain. Ganymede bloomed like a flower beneath him with his brilliant colours in the sunlight. Prometheus was captivated. When he wrapped his hand around him on a hazy instinctive whim, Ganymede gasped and curled in closer, stifling his breathy cries by biting his red lips but still whining in the back of his throat behind clenched teeth. Emboldened and drunk on Ganymede's responses, Prometheus chuckled and stole a kiss from those soft lips as he firmly stroked.
Ganymede soon fell apart in his hands with a soft whimper. As he panted for breath, Prometheus gazed at his parted red lips and felt like kissing them again. He was greatly surprised and, to be honest, quite aroused when Ganymede offered more. Again, his body moved for him. He gently pressed white-slicked fingers into pink flesh, his mouth going dry at the tight heat. Ganymede impatiently urged him on and Prometheus could do naught but obey.
When Prometheus finally entered Ganymede, he was nearly overwhelmed by pleasure, so different from what he was used to. But he managed to keep his control and focused all his attention on his lover, greedily taking in his every response. Ganymede was even more captivating now in his throes of pleasure, his golden hair shining brightly in his shadow as he slaked his desires. He lowered his head onto his arms, exposing his elegant nape and the tempting curve of his shoulders. Prometheus wrapped his hand around Ganymede and began to bring him to climax as he leaned down to nip his tempting neck, bruising tender flesh with his sharp teeth. Ganymede moaned.
Soon, his young lover cried out as he climaxed. His body shuddered and tightened around him, unerringly bringing Prometheus close to the brink. Biting down on Ganymede's shoulder to stifle his sounds, he firmly held slender hips and thrust deep into his pliant lover before spilling his seed in him as his vision and thoughts went white.
Prometheus woke up in the midst of a battlefield, sweet memories already fading as quickly as the fragrance of flowers amid the stench of iron and rot. Feeling more refreshed than usual, he immediately sought cover and began to prepare for another battle. He felt confident about this round.
Prometheus would not know or remember it, but eventually, Ganymede stopped visiting the green meadow. He too stopped visiting the green meadow.
One day, the battlefield changed into a huge dark cavern. The roof was too high up for Prometheus to see in the dim light and the behemoth flickered red from behind steel bars at the end of the cave. Beneath his feet, dark still water showed his reflection like a perfect mirror as he walked on top of it. The air was stagnant and had a muddy, watery odour. His clothes soon became damp with chilled humidity and stuck to his skin.
Prometheus finally stood in front of the cage and saw faded seal that kept the doors closed. He did not touch the seal, warily standing at a safe distance away from the bars as he watched the flickering red form of the giant move closer to the bars. Its fangs were larger than him and its eyes shone like garnets in the dark. The two enemies took their measure of each other. The beast's voice rumbled like an earthquake, "Why do you fight when you have nothing?"
Taken by surprise at the fact that the beast had asked him a question and by the question itself, Prometheus was silent. It was a good question, one he had never really thought to ask. The beast waited for his answer, its tails swaying lazily behind it. Prometheus thought carefully but came up with a blank. Trying to buy himself more time, he slowly paced the wet floor and crossed his arms as he sought an answer.
As he did so, he felt something uneven in the crook of his elbow. Wondering what it was, he stopped and undid the sleeve cords to pull up his dark blue sleeve. There was a word carved into the crook of his elbow. As he stared at the angry red lines, he finally knew his answer. Turning back to the beast, he said, "I continue to fight because I have someone to protect."
The beast considered his answer. It rose to its paws and slinked closer to the bars, its chakra radiating off its body in waves of heat as though it was a furnace. Prometheus was surprised that the water did not boil despite the heat. The beast spoke, "So you fight not for yourself but for the sake of another. This is a thankless and unrewarding situation you have put yourself in, for they do not know of your existence and will not thank you. Why do you continue to persist then?"
"Because I must. As long they can live happily, I am satisfied with my fate. I know nothing else." Prometheus firmly replied, standing tall before the giant. The great demon snorted derisively, "So you are a stubborn, hopeless fool. Irritating. Sickening. I cannot respect such foolishness!"
The beast slammed its claws against the door with a loud clang but the seal held firm. "Tch." It laid down on top of the water, resting its head on its legs. It continued, "But you are strong. You have continued to oppose me all this while and never gave in despite your numerous failures and the toll it took upon you. You are no craven despite your stupidity."
Prometheus remained silent, half understanding what it said through a faint haze of déjà vu roused by its words. The red beast seemed to calm as it watched him from behind the bars. It spoke again, "I could do worse than having you as my new host. You have given me a good fight of the likes I have not experienced for millennia. I will aid you in your battles as long as you allow me to take a reprieve from your dreary prison into the world of men. Do you agree?"
Prometheus pondered the offer carefully before he said, "Swear to me that you will never hurt the person I fight for. Swear that you will not abuse my trust in you and I will let you free."
"I swear on my nine tails." The beast spoke. Satisfied, Prometheus stepped forward and pulled off the seal. The doors creaked open without fanfare and the beast padded towards him. It stopped and loomed over him with its nine tails swaying behind it. It said, "I will now uphold the end of my deal. Brace yourself."
The beast lowered its head and it bent its legs into a low crouch before it leapt forward, with nary a ripple over still water and into Prometheus's chest, turning into a mass of turbulent dark red chakra that scorched him from inside out. Prometheus collapsed, unable to take the sudden strain as his body flamed incandescent white in the violent union of man and demon. He gritted his teeth, shoring up his meagre human chakra against the roiling mass of foreign poisonous chakra that threatened to overwhelm his body and mind. But it was far too much. Consciousness crumpling under sheer overload, Prometheus sank into the deep blue waters.
He dreamed of a green meadow.
Fin.
A/N: This is sort of a sequel/ side-story to " The End of A Dream". So you might want to read that after this, if you haven't read it.