The World Has Moved On (Dean/Castiel) NC-17
Title: The World Has Moved On (1/?)
Author: phar_ahkmenrah (halfblood alchemist)
Genre/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, some Anna/Castiel (for reasons to be explained later), AU
Rating: NC-17 (for strong sexual content, blood and gore, violence and language)
Spoilers: None (AU)
Wordcount: WIP
Warnings and A/N: This fic will be riddled with strong sexual scenes, violent deaths, torture, graphic imagery, and scary scenes. Far far future fic, modeled after “the Gunslinger” series by Stephen King. NOT A CROSSOVER! (Has similar concept as the Supernatural series, but different presentation. *Character parallels, concept parallel etc*) The Enochians and Daemons will be slightly off definition but the concept will be the same (they are sorcerer's instead of angels and demons).
Summary: As a great author once said, too many years long since passed, “The world has moved on…”. Two brothers find themselves travelling across the lands of a world that time forgot, travelling to avenge the destruction of their village, and the death of their family and friends.On their journey they discover their destiny lies in the secret profession of their late father and find their world turned upside down when they discover a dark force is threatening to destroy mankind. Left to stop this devastation from wiping out their whole world alone, they find allegiance in the unlikeliest of partners: a young, inexperienced mage, renegade from his clan and rebellious to their arrogant, narrow-minded ways. This rag-tag trio of heroes holds the fate of the world in their hands… if they can face the truth.
Preview: (click preview for full image)
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The winds ripped across the yellow plains in waves, harvest wheat beckoning to the heavens as the waters of the Great Sea would greet its own patch of atmosphere high above its tempestuous surface. Above, a solitary eagle screeched as it dove down from the cloud dotted skies to the ground far below, its prey in sight as he came in for the kill. It was simply survival. Everything in this hard world depended on survival anymore. The idea of any worldly comforts was naught in this place. As a great author once said, too many years long since passed, “The world has moved on…”
The world had indeed moved on. Time hardly kept importance in a world where the only memories of a place long past, a “history” no one cared about, were of urban legends and myths. Legend had it that a great civilization thrived on these lands; where great buildings cast of steel and glass rose high into the skies; where horseless carriages powered by gaseous liquids carried their riders for miles without tire. A world where people lived in constant competition for papered currency, women and pride. Stories of fabled cities like Shikago, Nu Yeorck, Lowrenss and Myamee remained bedtime stories for children, and on occasion the tavern lurkers of each small village.
The stories of most interest to many were the stories of weaponry. In these days, the weapon of choice had always been the broadsword, but the recent discovery of one many called the crossbow was a huge innovation. However, the weapons of lore made these modern tools of defense seem less than suitable; machines that fired pieces of metal into the flesh of their enemies’ being, explosive material, even something even the most imaginative of minds couldn’t fathom: electric torture. Of course, people nowadays completely disregarded these so-called armaments with skepticism, concerning them as drunken or crazed rants from social outcasts. Technology to even dream up these things wasn’t even fathomable.
But no matter, the stories continued and most likely would for far too many days to come. These myths had been passed down for years and always would be. They supposedly told of truth and history. No one listened. No one cared. No one believed in the ravings of lunatic old men. Eventually these insane beliefs would wear off, and normalcy would return. Besides, how could one believe in something so far-fetched without solid, physical proof? It would pass… eventually.
The sun was beginning to inch towards the cragged edges of the far off horizon, casting fantastic hues of auburn, orange, golden lights across the wind-whipped plains of the landscape. A coyote scavenged for scrapes to feed her offspring; the last of the day birds flitting across the shady skies to their nests for sleep. The night was beginning to settle into its routine, the nocturnal arriving in exchange for their daytime counterparts. Such scenes of natural phenomenon would have struck the average overseer as beautiful, but life out in the plains was anything but. Two brothers knew this well.
Said two brothers were currently watching this occurrence begin to manifest under the waning twilight as they set up camp. It had been many a night since the two had left the last village, and their lumpy Inn beddings. They had stayed for a few days, recovering from their last jaunt across the unforgiving landscape but now it was time to travel onward. They had a mission… a mission that had begun nearly twenty years prior. You see, these men were unlike any other that lived in this world… they were the last of their tribe, the only survivors from a mass genocide that had left their lives in shambles, their home and village burnt to the ground, all dead, including their mother and father. Having been ripped from the comforts of a “normal” life at such young ages and left to fend for their own sakes, the two brothers set off on their mission: avenge the deaths of their friends, their fellow villagers, and their parents Johnathan and Mary.
The brothers were bounty hunters. They used this guise as a cover for their true mission of revenge, and travelled the land in search of bounties to collect… and clues to their mission. Their cover worked well, for everyone knew the two famed hunters well but knew nothing of their past. But this didn’t matter; there was no need, for even the mere mention of their names struck fear into the hearts of many law breakers. It was difficult to forget the names of Deanolo and Samuel Winchester.
Deanolo and Samuel were inseparable, harkening from their near-death experience of the village genocide. Deanolo, or Dean for short, was the elder of the two, 30 and 26 seasons old respectively. But no matter what, both watched out for the other, never leaving his side, and they would travel as such until they either succeeded or died while trying.
Dean spread the ground cloth before him before flopping to the hard earth in exhaustion. They had traveled long and hard that day, the sun brutal upon them. But just as he was about to slip into well deserved rest, he felt a gentle nudge on his side and he smiled, looking up at the perpetrator. A beautiful black horse snuffled his side affectionately, nickering softly to his master. “Aye Impala…” Dean cooed, rubbing his equine’s nose lovingly. Impala whickered again, snuffing his hand. “Are you hungry???” Dean asked, reaching for the discarded saddlebag. He grabbed a handful of snacks for his horse, feeding them to the hungry beast before grabbing jerky and the whiskey flask for himself.
On the opposing side of the now flickering fire, Sam tended to his own horse, a palomino female that was much younger than the seasoned mustang of his brother’s, but just as strong and powerful. Sam rubbed Jess’ nose gently as the mare drank from a tin of water eagerly, smirking across the fire at his brother. “You realize that jerky will be the death of you, Dean…” he said in good jest, stoking the weak fire. Dean shrugged and took another hearty bite from the tough meat. “It’s not as if we have much else to eat, Sam. We’ll hunt in the morning. You can scavenge for your own nasty ground vegetation.” He shot back, nevertheless passing the flask to his younger brother. Normally, they would refrain from drinking when resting out in the open, but they had traveled the less-than well beaten path. No one came out this far from the edges of the meager civilizations. The brothers felt that it was safe to indulge, and if things did get heated, Impala and Jess were more than capable of aiding in a retreat. Besides, there was a patch of thick forest not far off. If they had to, they’d take to the trees.
Dean leaned back against the hard ground, watching the stars pop up in the inky blackness of the open sky. It was surreal. A duel moon glowed off in the distance, one a mere echo of the other, stronger celestial orbiter. The gentle moonlight and flickering flames shone in his hazel eyes, as he blinked slowly, sleep beginning to take over. But just when he felt that he could drift off easily, a sudden sensation flared in the pit of his stomach and he sat up, looking around tensely. It felt as if someone…
“Dean?” Sam said, sitting up and watching his brother nervously. He knew a look like that could mean anything. Dean shook his head, looking around. He saw nothing to even perk his senses. “Nothing I… “he shook his head, smiling across at his brother. “Nothing. I think I just need some sleep, is all.” He finished, lying back. Although the strongest of the sensations were gone, he still felt a lingering flicker in the back of his mind. Almost as if someone were watching them.
Shaking it off, Dean closed his eyes, letting the soft crackling of the flames and the deep breathing of his beloved horse, which lay curled around him, lull him into sleep.
Dean’s senses had not betrayed him. Someone indeed was watching the brothers, hidden well in the edges of the dark forest not 30 yards away. Several someones, to be specific. The watchers kept their eyes on the men before deeming them harmless and setting off on their way. One individual, however remained behind, his eyes trained on the older of the two men. The breeze picked up slightly, fluttering his tan robe around his feet and his messy black hair, as he harried a step beyond the cover of the trees for a better look. Now cast in the light of the moon, the man’s chiseled, handsome features stood out against the meager backdrop of the forest. He was a small, lithe man, sinewy muscles lined under smooth pale skin, bred for agile fighting rather than brawn. He wore a tan robe over black tunic and leggings, leather boots and gauntlets and a belt cinched at the waist. A sword hung at his side and a staff strapped over his back completed his ensemble. Icy blue eyes narrowed slightly as he contemplated the two men. The tattoo surrounding his right eye crinkled in concentration before he risked a glance over his shoulder. He wanted a better look at the men but…
No, the others were leaving as it were. He glanced over at the low fire again, before he felt something slip into his slack hand. It was another, smaller hand. He glanced down and saw the slender fingers entwined with his own, fingertips brushing against the edge of the gauntlet that reached to his knuckles. He smiled slightly, looking up at the woman that had taken his hand. Fire-red hair seemed to glow slightly in the moonlight, and she nodded to him, returning the smile. “Come, my love…” she said quietly to him, tugging his hand slightly.
The young man smiled, nodding to her. “Of course, Annahriel… I will join the group in a moment.” Annahriel sighed, glancing out at the trees. “It is no wonder you have not been fully initiated into the clan, love. Your incessant curiosity and inability to pay attention will be the death of you.” She spoke with authority, and the man nodded, looking apologetic. “I swear I will only be a moment longer…” he said, reassuring her. Annahriel sighed. “Hurry, then. We must return to the clan and prepare for your final initiation and our bonding ceremony.” She finished, leaning up and kissing him slightly, before turning to join the others in their party.
The young man turned back to watch the fire for a moment longer, hoping that either of the brothers would stir. But his patience was not rewarded. Both men were indefinitely asleep, and he could not wait all night for one to wake. He made a mental not to return at a later time to see if they were still there. Perhaps he could investigate again the next day, after his trainings. Perhaps he could even meet them…
“Castiel!!” Annahriel called, looking impatient. His time had grown short. The man, one named Castiel, cast one last glance to the fire before turning and joining the others. His heart felt slightly heavy at the thought that perhaps he would never know more about these strange men. But his heart and his loyalty lie with the clan and his betrothed, Annahriel. He could not let distractions get to him, as they always had before in any situation. It was true, Castiel was easily distracted, his curiosity winning out over concentration in his studies and training. But he was of age now, and he was to be initiated into the clan the very next day after his final training. Then would come the bonding ceremony. He smiled to his betrothed, claiming her hand in his as the group finally departed this portion of the forest.
Somewhere above them, a wood owl hooted in comfort to Castiel and he looked up at the creature smiling slightly. It was a good omen for the following days to come. His curiosity sated for the night, he rejoined his fellows to the clan, ready to take his tasks the following day with eagerness. It was time he became a true Enochian.
Next Chapter
A/N the second: My other penname is Halfblood Alchemist, so for the purposes of posting this on my other site, i left the fic poster with one penname on it. I really hope you guys like this fic. Updates will be slow with college being on the priority list, but updates WILL come!!
A/N the third: I made a boo-boo!! I forgot to credit the stock providers for the poster:
mage body by Grinmir-stock, dark warrior body by Mithgariel-stock, background by Breedstock and duel moons by nbstock. All stock providers belong to Deviantart!!!