Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ Mutilated Innocence ❯ Hurt ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Sorcerer Hunters, but that hasn't stopped me from writing about them.

Warning: This story contains the themes of incest, maybe some violence, sex (a bit graphic in scenes), and male/male relationships. If any of these may offend you then stop reading. If, however, you do read this, in spite of my warnings, and find it offensive then I have to say it is your own fault. Some scenes are of an erotic nature, but I have attempted to write them as tastefully as my ability allows.

Note: I will not accept any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference between flames and criticisms so I don't have to explain it. Here are some reason why I don't accept flames: 1) they generally include an attack on the author's character without regard to previous or future works that may or may not be in the same vein, 2) not only are they childish, but they make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material contained herein, 3) flames help neither the author nor the flamer to improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, 4) if something is so offensive as to elicit the impulse to flame then it is better forgotten and not dwelled upon, 5) you waste time writing it and I waste time reading and then deleting it, 6) it won't do you any good to point out my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don't I care, but I won't listen.

So, anyway, please review and no flames.

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Catch me as I fall

Say you're here and it's all over now

Speaking to the atmosphere

No one's here and I fall into myself

The truth drives me to madness

I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away

~ "Whisper", Evanescence

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Mutilated Innocence

The goods guys were supposed to win. After countless battles and close calls and near-death experiences, the good guys were supposed to win. The bad guys lost, no question. If that was what was supposed to happen, then why wasn't it?

The first one lost was Marron. Not dead, but simply gone one night during the war. He had disappeared without a sound, no signs of struggle. But he wasn't dead like the others thought. I would have felt it. Maybe such thoughts were delusional, but I needed them to go on.

Gateau launched himself into the battle with a passion for vengeance. He killed dozens of the enemy sorcerers. The sight of him in action was frightening, the stuff of nightmares. He always came back covered in blood and thicker matter. He went next. His body was carried back for burial. Éclair replaced him. She killed with a ferocity to match her brother's. She came back in the same manner as her brother. Big Mama buried them beside their parents. The ceremony was beautiful. White flowers covered the church and the dark wood coffins side by side. For a moment the war seemed to pause, as if to give a us a moment to grieve.

Then it came back with horrible, blood-soaked violence. Our numbers dwindled as the enemy's swelled. Fewer and fewer went back out to fight, even less came back, alive or dead. There wasn't anyone left to recover the bodies.

As enemies closed in about her, Tira tapped into a stunning power. It rippled across the battlefield. It crushed hundreds of enemy soldiers. Even from the Main Diocese I could see the giant Zelkova tree marking where she fell.

I begged Chocolat not to go. I promised to marry her, to make lots of babies with her, if she would just stay. I didn't want to be alone. She kissed me, said that she loved me, and left. She came back twice. Each time my heart moved into my mouth. The third time she didn't come back. There was no funeral. There was no body. We had a moment of silence. Well, I did. Everyone else fought against the enemy.

I couldn't fight. I wanted to. I wanted to kill a few of those bastards. Mama wouldn't let me. I was the reason behind this war. Skinny little nothing me was the cause of this horrible slaughter. If the enemy caught me, it would be the end of the world-literally.

So I watched everyone die. And I was alone.

The war came closer to the Main Diocese. Mama deployed her Haz Knights, her personal guards, the elite warriors behind her power.

I tried to slit my wrists-twice. I would have done it a third time, Chocolat's magic number, but Mille Feuille stopped me. He threatened to break my arms if I tried that again. Mama told me why she wouldn't let me die. If I did, then the darkness would be free. It would be an incorporeal essence sowing misery and sorrow until it found the perfect vessel; then the true terror would begin. My death would not end the slaughter, the killing; it would merely pause it.

Mama assigned him to watch over me. He became my babysitter and my closer friend. For the first time during the war, I laughed and smiled. He no longer pounced on me or hugged me to death. He was simply there when I needed someone to talk to, to cry on. One day, of my own volition, I kissed him. I no longer cared about being straight or gay. I just didn't want to be a lone. He kissed me back with such ferocious delicacy that I cried.

The next day he made love to me. I cried again. I almost felt complete. Maybe, I thought, I'm not alone. He was always so tender, as if he feared that I would shatter in a million pieces. I did shatter, but I always came back together.

And the war came closer.

After several weeks of soul-rending, mind-blowing love making, I begged Mille to hurt me, make me bleed. He stared at me in horror, and then became even more gentle, even more tender. I screamed and raged at him; I begged on my knees for him to bruise me and mark me, to take me violently and punish me. He refused.

I needed the pain to hold on. A maw of static loneliness yawned before me. Only pain kept it at bay. And Mille wouldn't give it to me. He would still make love to me, but I didn't want that anymore. I wanted to be taken, to be raped and desecrated in the basest manner possible. I wanted to feel. I needed to know that I was real, that I was alive.

As my companions left me, one by one, a piece of me rotted away. I died a little bit. I lost myself a little more in the void waiting patiently for my total surrender.

I began to cut myself, not fatally, but enough to drive back the static, the void. Mille took everything sharp away. I scratched myself. I pinched my flesh until I bruised. I scratched until I bled. With every little hurt I kept my sanity. Mille taped thick mittens over my hands. I bit myself. I tore into my arms until I passed out from the exquisite pain. Mille tied my arms to my sides and put a brace around my neck.

For awhile I could think of nothing I could do to fight back against the void. It crept in around me. Touching me insidiously, silently holding me down. Then I stubbed my toe, quite accidentally. The void fled, screaming, as the sharp sting sliced through me. An elbow against a stone pillar shoved it back further. A shin slammed against the edge of a desk brought me back to reality. Bruises began to cover every available inch of my skin. I discovered the potency of biting my tongue and lips quite by accident after ramming my head against the wall. Why hadn't I thought of it earlier?

Mille tied me to the bed with padded, non-abrasive, cords. He put a disappointingly soft bit between my teeth to prevent any further abuse against my lips and tongue. The void rushed back to mock me. It stared into me, stared into the darkness coiled about my soul, and it laughed.

Gateau called me an idiot one day. Somehow he managed the word through the bloody ruin of his face. He left shaking his head, bloody flecks spraying the room. Éclair watched me silently and followed her brother out. She looked good, except for the whole gapping hole where her stomach should have been part.

Tira came to me another day. She talked softly and asked if there was anything she could do for me. I tried to talk around the bit. I tried to beg her to whip for old time's sake. She couldn't understand me, and left smiling sadly.

Chocolate was my last visitor. She apologized for being so late. I forgave her instantly. She kissed me, told me that she still loved me, and left, again. I think I cried.

Marron never visited. That was how I finally knew that he wasn't dead. If he was dead, he should've been the first to visit me. After all, I was his older brother. That had to count for something, right? I wasn't even related to the others and they still came.

Mille refused to take me, even tied up and helpless as I was. He wouldn't even make love to me. He touched me gently and kissed me and murmured soothing words, but he wouldn't take me, the bastard!

A terrible crash just outside the front gates of the Main Diocese brought the war careening through me. The ghosts fluttered away, and, for the first time, the void crept back enough for me to see. We were doomed.

Through the screaming terror and red mist soiling the once beautiful cathedral, Mille came to me. Bleeding gashes decorated his face and body. I envied him for a moment. He could fight. He could feel. He could hurt.

Quick, long fingers undid the insufferable bindings and removed the gag. I tried to sit up. I couldn't. He gathered me in his arms and I felt like I was five years old again. Five years old and the world opened before me with hope and adventure. Then I came back and I was seventeen and hopeless and scared and impure. I clung to him. He told me things with hurried words. I didn't listen. The void trailed after us. We outpaced it. I watched the destruction raining down upon us.

The good guys were losing-badly.

He left me curled up at the base of a frightening statue in a room without windows.

I can't hear the carnage here. I'm waiting for him to return right now. There's too much silence. The void hasn't found me yet, I think. I would know if it had, wouldn't I?

Oh…I lied earlier. I'm sorry.

Marron wasn't the first one gone. My dad was the first. I'd forgotten that. Funny, I miss him despite the fact that he was a jerk. He died to save me.

Me…

Wait, that's another lie. My mother was the first casualty. She killed herself to save…me…

Me again. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. I hate myself.

The void fills the room. I scream and try to force my atrophied muscles to work. The void sees me without eyes, touches me without hands or body, and it devours me. Static fills my head.

I scream.

I can't feel.

Am I alive?

I'm alone. Where is everybody?

Tira? Chocolat? Gateau? Marron?

Mille?

Please…someone help me. Touch me!

I don't want to be alone anymore. I don't want to be alone.

Please, I'm scared.

Please.

Someone.

Help.

Me…

……

* * *

The boy is beautifully curled up at the feet of Tenrinoh. His dark eyes stare vacantly through me. He's so prettily shattered.

I cannot sense Him at all.

What has that woman done to the boy?

* * *

The master opens the door. I am curled up on a large chair. A moment ago I slept, now I am fully awake. I watch him approach the bed. In his strong arms he carries a strange burden. He places it gently upon the bed. The fire hisses and crackles and sends shadows dancing across the sumptuous room. It turns the Master's hair from silver to gold-orange. He looks like a sunbeam trapped in ice.

"Come here, angel." I obey instantly. His voice is beautiful like snow and stars. I uncurl and slide off the overstuffed chair onto the fire-warmed floor. Curiosity gnaws at the lining of my stomach. Has the Master brought a new toy to torment me with? Some new device to make me scream? I hope so.

I crawl across the floor upon my hands and knees. He told me to do that long ago when I first came. I think I disliked it at first. Now I can't imagine doing anything else. My motions are unhurried and elegant. Approval shines lovingly in his pale green eyes. I feel warm. I feel cherished.

I come to the bed and grip the emerald sheets to peer over the top. My eyes widen. I glance at the Master with uncertainty. He smiles reassuringly, and I return my gaze.

A haunted looking boy rests upon the bed amid the cool sheets. The dark fans of his lashes flutter slightly against golden cheeks. His pouting lips open and close upon each exhalation and inhalation. He looks so vulnerable, like the angel the Master seems to think I am. His face reflects the purity of his soul and the horrors of his life. I know this without question. A name hovers on the tip of my tongue. I tremble. A strange, familiar feeling breaks over me. I start to cry. Scalding drops fall from my eyes and sink into the green of the sheets by one of his supine hands.

"He is precious," the Master murmurs by my ear. Tender fingers pull back my long hair and massage my exposed neck. The tears stop and I lean back purring. The familiar, haunted boy is precious. The master licks up my tears. The boy is…

"Do you know this Little One?" I shake my head. I thought I had, but now I'm not so sure. Little One sounds perfect for him. "He is your niisan."

A shudder tears through my body. A thousand indistinct images tumble through my mind. My niisan? Mine?

"Mine?" Is he mine? A thrill courses through me. A distant, wondering voice whispers, 'Finally.'

The Master laughs and places an amused kiss on my cheek.

"Mine," he replies. My heart seems to seize for a moment. My breath catches painfully. I don't know why. "No touching, angel, unless I tell you to." I want to cry again. I feel as if he has just kicked me. Mine and not mine. The Little One isn't mine. He is my niisan, but not mine.

The Master pushes me back from the bed. I watch him move onto it and sit beside the Little One. Gently he begins to remove the Little One's clothing. There isn't much. Tank top, pants and underwear fall to the floor. I pick up the tank top and bury my face in the rough green fabric. A familiar scent floods me. I feel safe, loved.

I look up. The Master caresses my niisan's golden, naked flesh. The Little One murmurs sleepily. I suddenly feel…jealous. I don't want the Master to touch my niisan. The feeling passes. He isn't mine.

I glance up. He still looks haunted, sad. The Master's voice fills the room with its gentle cadence. I rest be head against the tank top and feel myself drift off to sleep.

~

I sleep on the overstuffed sitting chair or next to the bed upon my niisan's discarded clothes. The Master sleeps in the bed, cuddled around my niisan, his Little One. In the morning he leaves and does not return until the sky bleeds black and indigo. I spend the time between watching my niisan. I watch his thin chest rise and fall with each breath. Sometimes I check up on the nourishment spell the Master placed upon him. I never touch him. I want to touch him. I want to feel the soft resiliency of his kin beneath my hands and lips.

I want him to be my Little One.

However, the Master retains the title of ownership. But I can dream.

I picture myself standing for the first time in…

/I approach the bed/

I can't quite remember the color of his eyes. Some dark color, I think.

/And they're open and watching me, inviting me. I touch his warm skin. He smiles and reaches for me. I slide into his warmth/

He'll taste like innocence and tears.

Lunch arrives.

* * *

Something reaches for me. The static parts. Warmth rushes in. For a moment I'm not alone. Hands touch me gently. A warm body enfolds me. Such tenderness…

"Mille?"

* * *

His voice emerges like a young butterfly, so soft and full of distress and hope. But the name is wrong. I correct him gently as I caress his smooth skin and the pale scars. So many scars decorate his lovely little body. I know that he made them himself. The boy shows His destruction in the oddest ways. If only he hadn't locked himself away inside, then He could be released.

The light shattered him, and now, as ironic as it may seem, the dark must put him back together.

* * *

I watch the Master caress and stroke my insensate niisan. The name that spills from his sleepy mouth is the wrong one. I sense the disappointment in the Master. The Little One should be saying his name. However, the Little One, my niisan, is too far-gone to know that right now.

My eyes roam their forms as I lay curled in the overstuffed chair. The fire is lit, and gilds them. I watch the Master's strong hands glide over my niisan. They touch him in ways that would have me moaning breathlessly. However, the Little One merely sighs softly and cuddles closer against him.

I wonder what he dreams of.

Soon he drifts fully into sleep and nothing the Master does will draw the slightest reaction. The Master raises pale green eyes, which had so lovingly, tenderly watched the Little One, and beckons me. I shiver. This is the first time in days, ever since my niisan's arrival, that he has commanded me to approach the bed. I obey with elegant haste. Will he let me touch the boy that is precious?

His warm hands tug me up onto the rich emerald sheets. He smiles lovingly and kisses my eager mouth. I lay beside him and touch his skin. An image crawls into my brain. I moan softly into the kiss.

/The Little One murmurs softly against me. His hands glide across my skin. He's so vulnerable and so demanding/

The Master bites my lips. His tongue thrusts into my willing mouth. He tastes like darkness and blood.

/He tastes like innocence and tears/

His burning mouth travels down, past my neck. He pauses to suckle gentle at my nipples. I arch into him. I moan wantonly.

/He shivers exquisitely. He begs me for more/

He thrusts into my willing body.

/I thrust into his hot body. He arches up. Slim arms dig into my shoulders. "---!" he screams, always my name/

So full, I can feel him moving inside of me. I love it. I feel…Gods!

/So good. He feels so good/

My body jerks as pleasure washes through me. The Master continues to slam into my convulsing body.

/Mine/

His pleasure jets into me. I twitch weakly. He laughs so lovingly as he rolls off. Tenderly he gathers me up and wipes away all traces of my ecstasy.

/I hold him close and kiss his parted lips. He smiles drowsily. "I love you, ---," he whispers/

"You are truly beautiful, angel," the Master whispers approvingly. I search his face. He knows that I was thinking of the Little One sleeping obliviously beside us. He smiles. He doesn't mind. Why doesn't he mind?

"And you make the most amazing sounds when you come."

Will the Little One, my niisan, make amazing sounds when he comes? With a shiver I find myself entranced by the question-and the answer.

* * * *

From Sarryn:

We have three sets of PoV, Carrot, Cool Mint, and Marron. Each is in the present tense. The background to the story is the same up until book thirteen. Then I mix things up. Carrot and the rest of the S. Hunters escape. Onion dies fighting Almond Rassel. Grandpa and Gin Namba sacrifice themselves to free Carrot. Cool Mint and Almond Rassel are now raging a war against Kanure Stella (Big Mama) with the aid of Lord Charlotte (Kanure's brother) in order to get Carrot back.

However, due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, the God of Destruction cannot be released because Carrot has locked Him and himself away deep in his psyche.

There ya go. Enjoy.

And please REVIEW, without the uselessness of flames, if you would.