Abyssal Road Trip

Lêdhins 1st Person POV - Thief gang warehouse - Celebrations and memories

She's downstairs somewhere, having left before my fun even started. If there was ever a Soul that didn’t suit a Demonic state, it’s that one. A stubborn, unyielding woman, apparently intent on avoiding any opportunity for sexuality in a body built for marathon sex. Yet with a mouth that, without warning, can chew me out or tease me to a near frenzy. Till the truth came out, I thought she was a weird uptight dominator. Her ‘dancing’ on the transport had brushed against distant memories that refused to surface. Confusion had raged, and that emotion in me was never a pleasant thing. A confusion that had increased after the pain of the grotto, and her sneaking a look back when we left. The corners of her lush lips twitching downwards for a moment.

A look speaking of emotions that I had thought forgotten. Sorrow, regret, and unselfish promises to another. Not a look of Lust, of desires unfulfilled or malice which is all I’d ever seen succubus wear before. A look that was far too mortal for my taste. The confrontation had turned into further confusion and turned again to invoke rage. I had lashed out, yet restrained myself so close to crushing her. The rage wasn’t at her, but at the danger all about; which she was so ignorant of right now. Danger, that if I shielded her from completely, would only break her later.

I can only serve for now as a tidal wall to block the worst of the waves. In the deep lagoon, filled with sharks, she’ll have to learn to swim on her own. Danger from all about, including from what I’ve become. For now, I'm an untrustworthy tidal wall that could collapse in Rage or from the whims of those who could command me. Part of my mind tries to dwell on the emotions she's caused within, as other sensations pull me into the moment.

Abyssal Heat from the succubus against me cries for immediate attention. The heated skin of her butt and thighs pressing back against me. The walls of her cunt squeeze in a pulsing grip around my dick. Her inner muscles milking with their demands as she wiggles on me, undulating in time to the pulses. So I thrust and my hips shift into a steady rhythm, her claws dig into a still standing pillar, as I grind into her from behind. Use her as my Demon has been digging at me to use the other.

Hands cup flesh, fingertips settle in the canals where the thigh meets the torso and curl with dangerous pressure. Drawing her against me with every thrust; I ignore her cries of pleasure as I seek my release. Screams of fury, lust, blending memories, the scents of her body clash with the death about us, it all fills my senses.

Memories I’d thought long buried surge, seeking to drown me as I try to fuck the anger away. The rage pulses like the walls holding me tight. Pulling outwards till the lips of her clit feel as if they're going to release me, I pause. Then ram as deep as I'll fit, ignoring the impact against her cervix; wanting, needing to hear her scream. I try to lose myself in the motions. Yet those memories rush in repeatedly drowning me. I know they are memories; it’s the same moments lived repeatedly. An endless loop of torment drowns me, not even a moment taken to rewind as it begins again. Even now, memories shape reefs of jagged glass, ripping open the hold of my mind as I seek emptiness.

{{Make the other one scream as well! I can wait for my turn.}}

When I see the group standing on the pavement ahead, all I can see is trouble; and the anger inside raises its eyes. Six human hyenas snapping at their prey make my gut ache. Not that a lot is separating them, it certainly wasn’t a have versus have nots situation. The fancy shoes on one hyena alone looked worth more than most of the clothes I have put together. It's just that the pair of them look as brightly feathered as male Finches. I think the clothes on each of the other six exceed them for cost. I guess gold necklaces; I mean, chains don't count. Likely crawled out from one of those new fancy suburbs. ‘Kings Park’, seriously it’s still Blacktown. They get to charge more for a house with a fancy suburb name is all.

They're just wearing the wrong type of clothes for this area. Or at least for running into these arseholes.

The mardi gras is tonight, isn’t it?

Why didn’t you pair go to town? Could have been safe with friends instead of here with hyenas nipping at you.

I should get security to come down or the cops.

“Please, just leave us be. We don’t know you,” said the nearest of the pair. His voice is shaking its way into a higher waving register. The way he speaks and moves just egg them on, especially the way he clutches at the other man’s arm.

“Well, we know faggots when we see one. Time to teach you to breathe through his arse.”

Need to get security, or I’ll do something stupid.

Turning to go, the sound of a fist hitting flesh stops me. Red flickers in my eyes for a moment as rage rises. Words and memories surge in my mind.

I did my homework. Please don’t, Dad.

I was trying to watch my damn show. Is it too much to expect you lot to shut up? A flurry in my memory. Rock hard fists hitting my face and shoulders. Making my bones ache with every blow. Worthless kids. Pathetic failures. Fear spiking sharper still.

Memories. Why are some memories so consuming they don’t let you go? Can’t remember the happy times, but fear, and his rage, those I remember. I’m still trying to get the memory out of my head when my shoulder connects with the closest arsehole. Twitchy and drunk, he bounces off another and ends up sprawled across the ground. The red lava of rage fills my eyes when I stomp down. His body underfoot feels so good to me. I should stop, even now I could. But I don’t want to. Right now, I want someone to know pain instead. I want to feel something other than blackness clawing in me.

The memory of his fist striking me mingles with the rage as my jab smacks into the turning face of a second animal. Pain in my hand as knuckles hit. The impact of fist on bone, just make things sing inside. He goes down like someone flipped his switch, I'm not even sure where I hit him. Maybe too high? Tough shit.

Fury sends blood pumping through me as the hyenas turn at the sudden presence of the bull in their midst. I’m not even that big. Right now, the rage is filling everything, and while up for some sick fun, they’re not keyed up for an actual fight. The biggest of them weighs in more than me by twenty or more kilos at least. This was stupid. Yet they look to be carrying extra weight and not just muscle. Drunk from the smell of it, I’ve been drinking, but I’m not drunk. The one at my feet tries to grab at me, and I stomp again. My foot strikes his shin where it extends over the gutter. With the way he’s screaming as it breaks, I don’t think he’s going to be trying that again.

Jagged edges of bone showing against his pants are the least he deserves. Though his distraction costs me, and I feel a punch high on my chest turn me. The follow up is incoming, and I just have time to brace my arms in front of it. The power of the blow staggers me back—forearm aching from where the punch landed. I kick out. It wasn’t anything fancy, never bothered learning. But I know what a work boot to the knee feels like. Now so does he. He catches me with a cross to the jaw, yet goes down as the second kick lands.

Make them all pay.

One hyena turns and runs, but the others remain. With the others stepping past them, it gives ‘Twiddle Dee and Dum’ some space. Get clear of the predators, from all of us—two down, one of those very down.

Are you a predator or just an idiot?

Blacktown Hospital might need some beds free. I can feel the pain of loose teeth as I smile, and blood coats my tongue. I shouldn’t do that as it makes me look insane. There is nothing happy living behind my eyes now. Mr Fancy Shoes steps forward to get at me, but I just bat his hands away and shove hard. Pushing with my legs and arms, I send him into writhing Mr Kneecap. The way he’s holding it, something looks detached. Tripping over his friend, Mr Shoes face plants into the door of a parked car.

Should I leave a note of apology? Think that’s going to leave a dent.

I’m going to be in so much shit.

Fear mingles with rage, and rage beats it into submission as their fourth hammer fists into my ribs. Pushing had been a bad, bad idea. Fully extended, I’m off balance and pay for it. I go down. Instinct has me curling my body before I land. But I still wear the follow up hard to the gut. He goes to kick again, and I roll into him instead of away. My muscles and side scream as his kick lands low on my ribs. Then he bellows as I rise enough to punch him in the crotch.

He sinks to greet me, and I let his lips kiss my forehead as I head butt for the goal. Sure the fuck didn’t take him as the kind to bite. His front teeth open up my forehead, but he goes down. It sounds like a watermelon bouncing off concrete when his head hits the ground. Bet that’s going to sting in the morning. My forehead anyway, I don’t give a toss about him.

As I get to my feet, I look at the five of them on the ground. Three of them are making noise; two of them seem out cold. ‘Twiddle Dee and Dum’ look at me like an axe murderer showed up to a dinner party. Blood trickles across my eye. Reaching up to feel the wound's edges, the tooth I pull out isn’t what I was expecting.

Well shit.

“Seriously, you two dumb fucks. Couldn’t you have not worn gay pride gear tonight?” I try to say.

Though really honest, it's more of a wheeze. Talking pisses my ribs off. Heck, breathing.

Arm pressed tight to my aching ribs. I try a few experimental breaths. Yeah, not happy.

“But you helped us,” says Mr High Voice.

“Well, Princess. That doesn’t make them, me or you, any less dumb. Takes all kinds of stupid to make the world so off its collective head.”

Annoyed and done in. I move away with heavy pained steps, steering clear of Mr Grabber. Though I think he might be ready to pass out, the acidic smell of his vomit hadn’t made it past the adrenaline of the fight. Now, I wanted to hurl as well; the stench hit me as it always did. I hate the smell of vomit. It only reminds me of him. Passed out again and still barfing after a drinking challenge.

“Where did I park my car?” I ask, not expecting either of them to answer. I head towards the back of the parking bay.

The beeping sound of one of those Nokia mobiles dialling behind me follows in my wake.

“I should get one; they’re cheaper now,” I mutter to myself as I stagger on.

Yeah, who the fuck are you going to call, you friendless twat.

“William, this guy is dead.”

“Holy shit he is!” Mr High-voice says. His pitch goes up another octave and feels like its carving out my ears.

Ah, crap. I sit down on the gutter to wait. It’s me the coppers are going to want now.

Just as well she left me for him after all. At least I have signed all the paperwork. Will be the only good thing I’ve done for someone.

The weeks went going by in a blur. Some days I lose track of where I am in the week.

The red rage has been absent for ages. Finally, I’m worse than him. He’d destroyed our lives but never killed. Now I’ve killed not one guy, but two—my first punch, a blow to the temple, with too much rage within it. The second, when he broke his neck hitting the car. I hadn’t even noticed the snapping noise. Blood was pumping in my ears so hard.

When my court date rolls around, it doesn’t take them long to bring in the guilty conviction for two counts of manslaughter. When the sentence is handed down, the screaming voice of Mr Punched in Temple’s mother declares it’s not enough. Even raised in a fury, I still recognise her voice. Ironically, it's such a small world that she runs the shop where I'd regularly get lunch. With her is the daughter-in-law and grandson. The three have sat through every moment. Not that there was a lot to endure, I have a far longer stretch in front of me. Still, what kind of idiot brings a six-year-old to a trial, not sure why they even let him in. The kid just sits there though, and I feel his eyes digging into me with hate. Can’t say I blame him.

Her screaming rises louder still, filled with fury.

“That’s not enough. Curse you for my boy's death, may he take you to his maze.”

I have just a moment to wonder what had she been drinking. Then the world gets hot and swims around me. My brain was swimming from the pills, and now it's adrift as my stomach rebels. I shouldn’t have used those pills from the doc. My mind feels so far away. Darkness is around me, and I feel like I should sway, yet it clears my mind. As the messages hitting my awareness end, the medication's fog is finally so far away right now.

[Planar transfer beginning]

There’s cold stone under my feet now, and the Rage is back. I can feel it glowing behind my eyes. Not like it’s doing anything useful though, I still can’t see shit. Shuffling one foot forward over the stone, I can feel the roughness of its texture. Step by step, I move forward through the darkness. He’s not happy that he’s been on the bench from us for so long, he wants me to run and lash out with anger.

Red rage fills my eyes, its power is a thudding pressure in my head, yet it all feels so distant and empty all at once. As if my body is still far from where my mind is now. A ringing noise starts up in my ears, regular hammering blows beating in place of my pulse. Every beat feels like a hammer is smashing me flat. At last, an outstretched hand finds something—the stone under my fingers. At first, I think it’s the same as what’s under my feet, but it’s not. The surface underfoot is rough, but flat, I can feel some pattern not on the rock itself, but from what I'm sure covers it.

Though unless something lights this place up, I’ll never know. Slowly running my hands over it, the feeling makes me more confident. The irregularity of the pieces reminds me of one of mum’s mosaics. It was always amazing that broken things could provide such beautiful outcomes. Just like my sisters for all their jagged edges could show such beauty. I caught beltings in one form or another, yet they endured more. I felt such a failure that I didn’t know. Yet now I’ve failed them. Now I can never be there for them again.

“They were there, and I couldn’t even look them in the eye.” My voice echoed strangely hollow in this place, the sounds folding back in on itself as the lava of rage burned for release.

At first, I really see red, but it forms into a dull, angry light in the distance. Not enough to see the mosaic here, but enough to see the start of a path. While seeing the mosaic would ease my curiosity, it won’t get me out of here. So with careful probing footsteps, I head towards that light. The rage inside, at myself, and the world is making my bones ache. My knuckles clench and pop as I grind my fists, and the pressure inside feels as if my heart should be racing. Yet it’s still quiet.

Am I dead?

The path feels like its pressing tighter, and tighter the rage has nowhere to go but in. Isn't pressure what causes temperatures to rise? If so, I’m not sure if I’m going to hold. Already a voice, my voice, is screaming in pain and rage, the sound getting louder as the walls seal. The walls move inwards, and rage flows through every fibre rising to smash against the pressure Muscles stretch and push back as my hands scramble for purchase—the walls of stone that had been crushing inwards, change.

Stone no longer presses against bare skin instead earthen hands grasp at me. They work me over moulding me, pulling at me, yanking at the rage within me, stroking its fire. Rage soars, and the burning venom unleashes scars across everything. It pushes out like a living thing, and suddenly I feel not two but three hands pushing against the surrounding walls. The walls of flesh that even now give way and spill me like a torn package onto dirt and rock strewn floor.

[Access ‘Profile’ for attribute point allocation and class selection]

Blood, bile, rot and mildew fill my nostrils, as I face plant onto a blood-soaked floor. My body is off balance and awkward as I stagger to my feet and see. The weird message felt in my awareness ignored as I try to adjust. Circling stone walls and a screaming crowd. Monsters all about me lashing out at each other. Massive humans with purpling skin like an old bruise. But so not human, the rage on their faces clear as they smash into each other with three arms flailing. The air is echoing with the force of their impact. An impact I feel driven into the wall behind me by the collision of another's body into mine. Hands grab for my throat, and I know it’s a trap to seize for them. Then I’d be fighting on its terms.

It was going to be our terms, and I react; rage empowering me. Lifting my arms, I push my hands between its arms. I am trying to force my forearms between his, struggling to break its grasp on my throat. When fingers rise between its flesh, I see our skin tones match, and I know the monster I am now. Suddenly aware of a third arm perched somehow on my side. It’s long fingers trying to drive into my foe’s eyes. Eyes that I had been considering blinding were being attacked. Yet it’s trying to do the same, only for my teeth to catch them. They snap down to restrain movement. The weirdly long fingers of its third hand trapped.

Caught and crushed between my teeth, bone-cracking. Flesh and blood sweet on my tongue. As mine digs deep into its hollows, to scoop them empty, its pain gives me time to act, and I push off the wall. My headbutt smashes down to shatter its brow and orbital socket causing its the gouged eye to pop between my forehead and its cheek. It lets me go, but I have nowhere further to fall with the wall so close behind me still. My hands had been busy grample with it. Now they're free to rise in a clear triumph of the moment. The force of them carries them high, as something smacks to the ground nearby.

A gift for me.

As I push to my feet, my third arm has already picked it up and brought it to my ‘main’ hands. The heft of it familiar from years of gardening. Where before I’ve used it to prepare garden beds that fill with life, now I'll need to use it to bring death. Blinded, the other rises to its feet, roaring in rage. My arms rise and fall, and the familiar tool now arcs with their motion. Metal on bone, a sound not so different from fist to the skull. Then things turn with the face dismantled and cast aside. The curved mattock blade cutting across its face from temple to chin.

“Kill your way to the stairs, whelp. I’ve got a coin riding on you now.” A voice growls from above. In a language, I’ve never heard before, that rumbles with a vile familiarity over my rage.

Yet I’ve no time to reply as another three-armed monster races my way. Kicking off the wall, I charge. Weapon faking high, its eyes go up, and then wide. As at the last moment, I drop and slide across the sodden earth. A course that ends with a spike buried in its gut. Tangled between its legs, I force up and smash my shoulder into its groin. Its dick bouncing off my shoulder as I crush its balls in tight to the bone.

Its hand grasping at me in pain and rage. My own don’t stay still as I duck my eyes away from its fingers. Muscles pull downwards hard on the mattock's haft. Its guts and blood spilling out. The edge of the spike opening flesh as if a zipper. His blood soaks across my back and down my naked form as I rise. A torrent of blood flows off me. The warm flood rushes down across my groin. It makes me feel as if my dick is pissing its blood. I scream in victory as it screams of agony shows its defiance and pain. When the spike hooks into its pelvis and then comes free. It flops back towards the ground, unbalanced. The haft spins in my hand as I raise the weapon and step forward. Stance widening, I brace and tee off, targeting its head. The wide blade scoops out its throat and exposes spine to the air. The way out becomes clear as I step away.

Wide broad stairs, ignored by so many of the monstrous enemies, offer the mirage of an uncluttered exit. From my location, they feel so distant, so far away across a swirling melee of foes. Armed and unarmed alike, smashing into each other. The blows and screams, an echoing pulse of the rage within. The form I wear had felt awkward; now it fits me like a glove. This time when I move, it’s not as prey, but as predator.

That’s the way out.

Blood soaked, the wooden haft should have become slick, yet a weird pattern under my fingers drains the wetness away. Weapon ready, I step forward to crush the next.

A noise from the stairs grabs me from the memories that seek to drown me. The present moment, at last, frees me from that drowning rip tide. Fortunately, I don’t break the bottle yet I’m still gripping it with dangerous pressure. When I swig, I find I’m drinking something that tastes like paint thinner, yet I don’t care. The succubus left at some point, not sure I remember when. Physically sated, yet even emptier than the hollow I’ve been for so long. The place smells of cum, death, and other things worse.

Why did I fuck her among this mess? Too horny to care. Caring not sure I remember what that is anymore.

Familiar energies nearby speak louder than I remembered. Julia standing at the top of the stairs, her strange serene calm trying to mask her flustered reaction as she takes in my naked state.

{{That could get her killed, you know. Best to fuck it out of her now.}}

{{Why do you hesitate? Make her scream in real rage. Actual fear, not the fakeness, I can still taste it on my tongue.}}

It's my tongue; you don't get a say. She’d be safer without me.

{{Then leave. Or kill her now, hunt her down, free her Soul.}}

{{You wouldn’t even take your own life to be free of me.}}

You don’t get a say.

{{Oh yes, I do. I’ll have a say in your every craving. You wear the form that should be mine.}}

{{I’ll have it yet. Do you even remember her leaving? I do. I had her last. I'll have that one first.}}

Liar.

{{Really, cause you don’t remember do you.}}

We've had no one not willing, and we never will.

{{Haven't we? Are you truly sure?}}

I just take another swig on the bottle that does nothing. Ignoring the liar's whispering taunts in my mind.

Yet the vileness of it still tastes better than the way I feel.