InuYasha Fan Fiction / Gundam Wing Fan Fiction / Crossover With Non-anime Series Fan Fiction ❯ Go To Hell ❯ Of Obedience and Stupidity ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Chapter 1


The man wasn't human. God knows...

"Oh, fuck," Milliardo breathed, then repeated the phrase, again, and again. Edges of darkness obscured his vision and he was seconds away from fainting. He wanted to go back inside the house, safe in his room, settled in his bed- with a knife or something. But he was already here, in the middle of the street, staring at some creature so terrifying that his legs were flooded with the spread of warm fluid.

What the fuck is he, Milliardo asked himself, surprisingly not deep in unconsciousness yet. The killer- when he first saw him the man was murdering what police thought was his seventh victim- was well over the height he saw him as then. A tower, with a gorgeous softly-angled face, a tough neck surrounded with a coat darker than the night itself. Teeth struck from his mouth, eyes glowed red. He was well over six or seven feet, Milliardo could bet a leg on a little over eight. If he were to run ten paces, the killer would catch up to him in one or launch the chainsaw that rested its tip on the ground. He trembled in his pajamas, had walked straight out into darkness in the clothes. What in the hell was wrong with him?

The man smiled. Fangs bright. Sharp.

When Milliardo first saw him, the beast held a woman against the wall, her wrists bound by his hand. The other hand busy gutting her from xiphoid to coccyx. His mouth was open to her spray of crimson, drinking as one would from a public fountain. Then, he thought the man was insane. Criminally psycho. The top-notch nutjob.

Why in the hell had he come from the safe sanctuary of his house?

Then, he wanted to tell someone so badly, call the police, anything.

But one call destroyed that thought. The guy had called, asking of his loyalty, and Milliardo gave it to him absentmindedly, too terrified to even move. The man ordered him to take off his clothes, and he did that too, then he spread his legs when he was commanded to do so. When he was told to masturbate, Milliardo hung up so suddenly he surprised himself. He had then called the police.

"This is the police Department. May I ask what is the problem?" A woman with a reassuring voice replied immediately. His nerves calmed a bit, but a slow scraping noise- nails on glass, his window- interrupted them. It stopped, then started again, and again, and again. "Please sir or madam, respond. Is this an emergency?"

"N-no!" Milliardo had sputtered, fear clawing at his heart again and again. He could see the outline of the man so easily, right outside his window, his silhouette made by the streetlight that shone into his room. "I'm sorry, I thought there was someone outside my window, but it is just a cat. I'm so sorry."

"No problem, we get those all the time. If you need anything else, please call," the woman responded so amiably Milliardo wanted to shout the truth. "Good bye, sir."

"Good bye, ma'am." As soon as he hung up, the phone rang again. The shadow was gone, and Milliardo thought that maybe it was all in his imagination. He answered the ringing, tears stinging his eyes. "I'm sorry!" he said.

"Apologizing will get you no where with me," the man replied stonily. "Did you see me leave, boy? Do you know why?"

"No."

"No? Remember who I am, boy." Milliardo heard a click and clang and a woman scream.

"No, sir," he gasped, muffled protests coming through the phone.

"Good," the man cracked a bone, and the screaming stopped. "I left because I was so ready to kill you, right then and there. But I would regret it, I knew I would. You're much too beautiful to kill so quickly, but I'm still a bit angry. When I catch you on a dark night, a weekend, I'll have my fun with you. When I kill you, it will be slow."

A warm gush of fluid spread through his pajamas, to his blankets, into his bed. "Please, don't... don't kill me."

The psycho chuckled. "Now begging, that might just get you somewhere boy...It just might." And he had hung up. The hollow dial tone scared him.

The calls didn't stop there; Milliardo only hoped it would be that easy. The man took his sweet time; he knew every time no one was home, somehow, or when he had to go use to restroom, when he had detention. Notes, letters, tapes, and photographs made their journey to his eyes and ears- past victims, mostly, a hell of a lot more than seven, and their last words, screams, expressions. He was being stalked, obviously, but he had a better mind to keep it all to himself.

Two weeks before, two weeks after the police call, the stalker again spun the conversation into a lusty diabolic scheme likely planned days before, just like the night before and the night before that. These conversations, the phone-sex, became routine. It seemed that there was a third party who probably didn't survive. He could hear the man fuck the person, who begged for mercy, to survive.

"How can you say that," the man murmured to the person, horrendously loud wet noises filling Milliardo's ears, making it easy to become aroused. It sickened him."You tried to kill me earlier. And I don't like you near enough to let you get away with something like that. Milliardo, on the other hand, he might have a chance in this situation." That person probably had no idea who the boy was, but that surely put him on the spot.

He rubbed his cockhead head, shuddering, and his hips jerked involuntarily. His stalker had commanded it, and he obeyed. He felt better.

Quickly, he ascended to his climax, skin gleaned with sweat, mouth open with off-beat cries, mind raking for the man's permission to have him come. He was disallowed the privilege to stop, slow, or begin any act of masturbation- but always he could go faster, as fast as he could. It was a tad disturbing to want to come while over the phone someone is going to be slaughtered for the sick twisted fun of it.

Milliardo refused to worry about that then, though he had had nightmares about it.

"Sounds like you're ready," the man said to him. "Bitches beg, Milliardo."

He was his bitch, it was a non-negotiable fact. He'll do whatever the man said, just so he wouldn't get hurt, or killed for that matter. Soon, his acts wouldn't be on account of such threats but because he wanted to please the man, to hear him say 'good boy' on a regular basis- and to come occasionally.

Right now, though, he knew it was better to just beg.

"Please, sir!" Fisting furiously, Milliardo drew himself close, but squeezed as hard as possible, not wanting to come a second before. "Please let me come, sir!"

"No." Waves of pleasure crushed his nerves, a sea against its promontory, his body eroded singularly. Before, he thought it was impossible to hold his orgasm and, presently, it was magic."You've done nothing to deserve it."

Baffled, the boy answered, "What have I done before?"

"Well... You looked pretty, were obedient much more quickly than others- among other things. It's not enough for me now." He chuckled, somehow it was much deeper, darker, deadlier- his victim was quiet at the moment. "Are you still loyal to me, Milliardo?"

Broken to tears, still obediently stroking his unrelieved member, Milliardo couldn't answer untruthfully. "Yes, sir, I'll always be loyal to you."

"That's good." The man hung up. A severed conversation, Milliardo guessed, meant the end of everything today, and he could do anything he wanted. Except, of course, he couldn't offer himself any sort of relief. He didn't either.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Somehow, this day rolled in, a dazzling sparkle of a Friday- supposedly, the news reported eight more people dead and gone, gutted in the precise manners of a surgeon, or messily as that of in a manslaughter, innards spread far and wide. The only connection between the victims- and what frightened Milliardo so terribly- was that they were handsome young men and women. All except two were high-school level, and the other two were freshmen college students.

There were many he knew: Northview High School's valedictorian Triton Bloom; a basketball star whose notorious upbringing as a orphan made him even more reputable had only the first name Brandon; an exchange student in his school whose name he couldn't remember; Taichi Kamiya- another star of soccer; Kagome Higurashi, who won the city beauty pageant- and so many more. There were less special people on the death list but they wouldn't have made the cases so exciting otherwise.

After watching another useless report of the unknown serial killer, Milliardo had a meager dinner of noodles and waited solemnly for his stalker to call. He wondered how his parents and sister took to him being so distant, paranoia was common so there was no worry for that. It seemed they couldn't care less. When he came to the bottom of it, he cared even less than they. Plus, he anticipated this call, haven't been allowed to come for several days and losing his mind about it, and the family gone was best.

It rang.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come outside," was the curt reply.

He mindlessly, simply mindlessly went outside. Here he stood, ready to pass out- which in his mind would be very fortunate indeed. Better than how the life of Triton Bloom had ended, an audio-only tape that spread to the internet had him screaming for his life, another dim video showed Brandon gagged.

The man swung his chainsaw experimentally over his head after he whirred it on. He swallowed his heart...then his stomach...wondering why in the hell he couldn't fucking move! Sure he was frightened into pissing his pants- but he could hardly blink.

Or scream when the chainsaw seared slowly into his right arm, making an excruciatingly painful mark through to his rib, where his arm fell to the ground. The churning heart nestled in his lungs exploded and it felt like every other organ inside him convulsed like dynamite- he was going to burst from the inside, soundlessly, alone. His psycho started on the other arm, had picked up the right and stuck it into his large mouth, drinking it and staring at him with damn near alluring eyes. His other arm struck the ground, and his legs were then prepared for their ruins. One of them dropped to the puddle of blood at his feet- foot- but he remained standing- matter-of-fact he could fucking fell his leg and arms. Not that amputee itch- but as if he never had them sawed off.
"How do you feel?"

"Awful... sir.." And you know that you sick son-of-a-bitch.

"Good, you can speak now." Though sitting, the man's grin was on level with his tightly curled stomach. "I assume it doesn't hurt as much as before?"

It hurt, heaven knew, but it sure as hell didn't feel as badly as before. He could even move- not his body- but.. somehow move. He shook his head- and felt it pivot- but his hair stayed still.

"Can you see it now?"

"See what, sir?" Milliardo had the notion his mouth wasn't moving.

"My sword."

The chainsaw had the fuzzy image of a censored face, as on the news, and at different angles he could see the golden hilt of a sword, then its blade, with broad silver insignia markings.

Maybe... Just maybe he was dreaming.. or he's dying -or dead and this is a posthumous experience before his soul...does whatever it's supposed to do.

His limbs were all gone. He felt no pain- he felt pleasantly warm actually, and the killer sliced his torso in two, sliding the bleeding muscles off his invisible shoulders like a regular shirt, his head toppled off without further ado. The wind brushed his invisible skin.

"I'm a ghost?" he questioned, bringing his hand to his face and waving his non-visible fingers.

"If you were a soul," the man corrected,"you'd be in Heaven or Hell right now."

"Then what am I? What was I?"

"Right now, you are a free-floating Devil Incarnate- or demon spirit, freed from its Shell- coincidentally in the form of a human... The details are complicated and unimportant." The man wrung his hands restlessly until the left caught fire. "Now I shall give you a new Shell- or re-establish the one hidden in the human Shell- with the aid of dark magic. Is that okay with you?" Without waiting for an answer, the man said," And then, you're coming with me down to- Well, you'll find out."

Milliardo eyed the dark flaming hand warily, its palm flat on his forehead. A pain like lightning that spread like hellfire struck his mind and flared it into a dark pit- the pain so immense it was actually indescribable. It went on for an eternity before a roar sounded. He had been squeezed into a new Shell presumably and he never wanted to do it again. Now, he had no idea what was going on. It was dark and there was only the roar. Then even that was gone. The first thing he heard next was a muffled moan and a grunt- then a startling loud crack of a whip and a scream. Everything heavy and deep as if in slow motion, louder and faster as his ears regained their hearing. Two things he couldn't see- someone getting fucked and another getting whipped. He whispered a question to himself. Where was he?

"It'd help if you opened your eyes. Open them."

And, as obediently as always, he obeyed.