Adrien heard the door close and lock from the outside. Yet another would-be master has come and gone. Being the hunted wasn't nearly as much fun, simply because his 'hunters' held no true appeal. They lacked style. They lacked finesse. Worst of all, they lacked intelligence. More often than not, the players of this redundant drama all fell back on the safety zone provided by the Palace, at least those who are paying customers.

Those coming in with a death sentence were a far more enjoyable game for the young man.

Though sometimes even that got boring. He was stuck in a rut, as not many of his playmates were any better than the hunters. Sure, he offered them a choice. "Survive me and live." It was elegant in its simplicity, at least on the surface. But Adrien had yet to meet anyone who could beat him.

And therein lied the problem.

The only way to get out of a rut was to break it. In regards to the hunters, Adrien had no say in that matter. He wasn't allowed to kill paying customers with odd kinks. As for the hunted, however, there was an option.

It wasn't his fault if Adrien played the game better than anyone.

Sitting on the bottom floor, surrounded by his assortment of dead and dying foliage, Adrien snorted to himself before looking up through the glass ceiling of his conservatory-come-prison. The full moon gave a cold light that made the blue-grey of his eyes to glow from within.

"You, my dear, are perhaps the most intelligent of all that have passed through here," he offered, almost in prayer. "I only wish I could have your secrets as well."

"She has no secrets."

Adrien whirled at the sound of the strange voice interrupting him. Standing but a few feet away was a stranger dressed in an odd uniform of sorts. A sleeveless coat was circled by a wide belt at the waist and stopped at the knees. Adrien noticed the deep forest green colour complimented the stranger's equally dark, red hair. Black pants disappeared into dark polished, flat-sole boots. It was hard to tell if the pants were actually part of a long sleeve skin-tight body suit, or if that was a separate shirt under the coat.

While the uniform was decidedly odd, it was two components that really caught Adrien's attention. The first was a crimson, metallic buckle on the belt: a circle dissected by three slightly curved lines that intersected at an off-centre point within the circle itself. The second was a black cigarette holder with a silver mouth piece, inlaid with a silver band in the middle, and one foot if an inch long. Currently a cigarette hung from the other end, the cherry end glowing as the stranger lifted it to his lips for a slow drag. Adrien found himself mesmerised by the wisps that were exhaled from thin lips.

"I wonder if smoke ropes could strangle," he thought to himself. Grey flicked to the red-gold emblem on the sash before looking up to meet marble white eyes. "Is that supposed to mean anything, or just an ego enhancer?" Adrien quipped.

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing."

For a moment Adrien wondered if the stranger was a scholar wannabe, or did he actually have something working under that red mane of his. Either way, it might be fun, if the man was willing. And if he was a fake, knocking him down a few would still be satisfying.

A quick toss flicked a few dreds back over Adrien's shoulder. He gave the stranger a long look, chuckling softly when he saw that it had no effect. Most tend to crack just from a silent stare, warning of another fruitless venture and boring bedmate. Adrien had to quell his hopes that he'd finally found a playmate he could truly enjoy.

It had been so long since he destroyed something of value.

"You don't look like my usual hunters," the Palace slave droned. A hollow chuckle answered back.

"And who said I was hunting?"

That lifted Adrien's brow. "You don't look like a death prisoner, either."

"So people only fall into one of two categories for you?" The stranger appeared bored. An ashtray appeared in his right hand, though Adrien couldn't remember seeing it before. Two taps knocked some ash into it, but it disappeared when Adrien blinked. It happened so fast the slave wondered if perhaps he'd just imagined it.

"Three," he replied, ignoring the ashtray trick for now. "There are my keepers, after all."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, then," the stranger said. Adrien couldn't tell if the stranger were truly offering an apology, as his tone hadn't changed once since they started talking. In any case, sincerity was doubtful at best. "By the way, you're not being a very courteous host, you know."

Another pause. Since when had Adrien ever been a host? Could one even be a 'host' in a prison? Either he was chased and rutted over by crass, unintelligent barbarians, or he was given near broken toys that they wanted him to finish off.

Host? Indeed.

Perhaps that's why there was a strange appeal to it. Maybe if he had been a proper host, Adrien could have invited his victims to him instead.

It--was an intriguing thought.

Adrien stood and offered a gentleman's bow. "My apologies to that. But aside from the stone benches, I have no chair to offer you, I'm afraid." A sardonic smile touched his lips. "I didn't have much say in matters concerning the interior decoration."

"So I gathered." The redheaded enigma said nothing more as he took a seat on one of the cold benches, seemingly unaffected by all the dead flora now surrounding him. Again came the trick of the ashtray as he took a long drag, then tapped the ash into it before it disappeared again.

For less than a moment, Adrien found the exhaled smoke a thing of wonder.

He shook his head. Smoke had never interested him much before. Nothing did outside of the beauty of death. He would prefer to keep it that way.

"Focus," he thought. "Find his game, then beat him at it. Maybe he won't break like the others. That would be...fun."

The plan warmed Adrien's cold shell a bit. He offered a twisted smile as he took a seat opposite the stranger, having no qualms about being on the ground. The cold that hung in the air didn't affect Adrien much, despite his entirely too-thin frame having little to protect itself. He folded his legs, his repose almost meditative.

"Surely the guests of such a gathering have some responsibilities as well--" Adrien trailed off when he noticed the ashtray for a third time. It was proving too distracting. "--Most others would simply drop the ash in the plants. I doubt if they care, considering."

The short laugh fell awkwardly inside Adrien's prison, as though having no place and right to be there. It sent a shiver along his spine. Having never felt such a reaction to anyone before, Adrien didn't know what to make of it. Was it fear? Impossible.

Fear shouldn't feel so--pleasing.

"I'm not like most others," cam the smooth reply, the stranger crossing one leg over the other. His body language spoke of one being highly amused, though Adrien couldn't think of anything entertaining to be had in the current situation.

Who are you? The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Adrien knew if he gave into them, he'd lose one round of this game, if not the game itself. He couldn't afford to do that. It was the first promise of fun since he was thrown into this place. He had to keep playing.

If he won, surely a death like no other awaited his desire-stained hands.

"No, you certainly aren't like most others." Large hands hovered in the air a moment before falling back to Adrien's knees. "For example, most others would have given me a name by now."

"Perhaps," the enigma agreed. "But, 'What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'" ^[1]

Adrien moved his mental pawn as well. "....it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part." ^[2] He chuckled. "However, I don't think you are here merely to quote Shakespeare. Though if you wish, I can oblige."

Another slow inhale rooted the momentary silence. Adrien didn't know how much of that cigarette was left, yet the stranger wasn't in any great rush to abandon it. The smoke that left the redhead's lips seemed to caress his cheek and spill down his neck before dissipating. The fact that it defied the laws of physics by falling down instead of floating didn't matter much, at least not while it held Adrien ensouled.

"A droll man, that one. Words mean little if one confines them to a single outlet. But neither here nor there." Colourless eyes turned their gaze back to Adrien, who wondered is such orbs could bleed if ripped out. "However, I will offer a name, of which I have several, if only to give you a reference to use."

The underlying sarcasm, whether it was real or just Adrien's interpretation of the words, pricked the slave's nerves. "A reference you have no need of, I presume?" he sneered. The resulting laugh did little to help his mood.

"I have many needs, bellus caliga. That's just not one of them. But for now, you may call me Nirah."

Though his Latin was rusty, Adrien understood the phrase somewhat. "Bellus caliga? Beautiful mist?" It didn't make much sense, no matter how many times he rolled it around in his mind. He became so fixated on it that Adrien didn't realise the enigma had moved until he felt long nails curling lightly on his jaw, forcing his head up. The stranger's face was now inches from Adrien's own. Had it been anyone else, they would have suffered greatly for such an act. But being so close, Adrien became more intrigued as he sensed no warmth coming from the body kneeling in front of him. All that he felt was a cold much like his own--no. This cold surpassed even his, leaving him to shiver where the chilled air never could.

"Death," the stranger--Nirah--purred. The word slithered up Adrien's spine, resting somewhere that his heart might have been, if he admitted to having one. He didn't know if Nirah wanted a response, but Adrien gave one all the same.

"It is perfection incarnate," he whispered.

Nirah only smiled, running his thumb over Adrien's bottom lip. "I suppose, but it is only a piece of the puzzle. Without the baited touch of those other debase emotions, your intricate traps would have had nothing to catch." A dark, heavy miasma enveloped the very room, but Adrien couldn't be bothered. Nirah spoke truth, but did those emotions matter to him? All there need be was death. Yet he couldn't deny the strength of those other "debase" feelings. It was true that he had managed to lead many a victim to their fate by playing not only upon their faulty intellect, but more often than not, with their sinful nature as well. It was enjoyable to watch as his 'playmates' destroyed themselves because of it, but he was above those things. They were nothing but destructive. They didn't apply to him.

Did they?

As if reading his very thoughts, Nirah answered for him. "Doesn't your craving for the perfect death point to a desire in and of itself?"

"Touché," murmured the slave, his eyes flicking down to Nirah's mouth. He couldn't remember seeing the enigma take another drag of his cigarette, yet soft gossamer trails of the white floated from his lips with every exhale. The transient movement enthralled Adrien with its wispy dance. "But I'm not them. Their lusts are not mine. They are dead, and I am--"

"I'm not implying that you are." The words whispered along Adrien's ear. Nirah's voice cut of Adrien's at a pinnacle moment, creating a strange fold in time. "But I know you well, for we're alike in that regard. Lust, desire, want, hunger, greed; we need these things as much as they do. They are our tools. If nobody had these things, you and I could never create the intrinsic arts that we do." How Nirah managed to get closer without actually kissing the slave, Adrien didn't know. He didn't much care, either, bound as he was by the vaporous fingers and the pull of haunting truths. "But you've only touched upon one art form. Haven't you ever wondered about what lies beyond perfection?"

"Beyond perfection?" The slave blinked slowly, the words all but caressing him. "That would be beyond death. Is there such a thing?" he asked. Had the situation been normal, Adrien would have scoffed at the idea. Now, with this mystery cloaked in a human form, he wasn't so sure. And if anyone could tell him, certainly it would be this stranger, with eyes that spoke of a darkness too wondrous to behold, and hair that reminded him so much of his toys as the blood dripped from their lifeless bodies.

He would know, when he offered such sweet secrets that no one ever dared breathe of before.

"There is much that lies beyond." As Nirah spoke, more and more of the hazy smoke left his lips, filling the room and clouding Adrien's vision. The slave swore he could feel the gentle trace of fingers playing along his skin, no doubt hidden by the heavy brume surrounding him.

And that voice--Nirah's voice--sounded both distant, yet so close that Adrien felt them inside his very mind.

"Pain that does not lead to death, but to damnation."

Reality became a flimsy thing veil. All that existed were words carried on a silken tone, and the heavy smoke curling all around.

"It isn't always to see them dead, but to see them suffer."

Adrien moaned, his lips parting as he felt the touch of smoke against his lips. He tasted a touch of bitter sweetness as it stroked his tongue. He surrendered sight for sensitivity, feeding a growing hunger that surpassed any he's known with his victims.

"The agony needn't always be physical."

Oh, but it was agony. Such a cloying torture, because for once in his life, Adrien had a desire to be touched. He once abhorred it, not even to kill with his own hands but once. Now, surrounded by darkness and the promise of satiation, he needed something greater.

"But the true masterpiece..."

The solid yet intangible fondling only teased his skin.

"...where you can attain the level of the divine..."

Adrien wanted more.

"...is to see them broken and surrendering to their own darkness."

In that moment, despite the barrier of his clothing, something too large and too smooth to be human was inside the Palace slave. There was no thrust, no warning, no friction or push. One second he's empty, the next, Adrien is completely and utterly filled. It was the smoke. It had to be, as it moved in ways none of Adrien's human masters could ever hope to.

For the first time since he'd been locked away in the Palace, Adrien felt unbearable pain.

For the first time...Adrien felt overwhelming pleasure.

There was no way to tell them apart. Adrien didn't want to. This was his happy medium, for pain and pleasure to exist as one and the same. Death was only the culmination. Now he understood, it was the journey he'd been seeking.

It was this journey.

The slave could barely hear his own screams as he fell back onto the floor. His thin frame writhed as more smoky tendrils drifted under his clothes to pinch and whisper along his skin. Teasing, hurting, arousing, the myriad of emotions criss-crossed his senses. The smoke forced Adrien's lips to open more, his head thumping against the floor as his mouth was plundered. Many a master tried to force him into fellating them, but that was not the case here. Adrien was simply taken with choice, without compromise, without regret.

Taken by an impossibility that went against all the rules of nature and decency, and he loved it.

Adrien convulsed as that striking voice called to him once more.

"To watch as they beg for the corruption, needing it first for pleasure, then hunger, then just to live. Yes, there is much beyond death."

The smoke curled around his rigid cock, squeezing in a near painful grip before pumping the slave for all his worth. Adrien lay sprawled out on the floor, his body jerking as the smoke assaulted him. He felt exposed, opened, and filled more than he'd ever been before. Inner muscles clenched in protest, his throat burned from the constant thrusting. And it was all for this man, if he could be called that. For Adrien, he became much more, offering that which the prisoner hadn't known he was searching for until now.

More than perfect.

The sexual torment continued. Ghostly appendages that felt all too solid and real were constantly thrust inside Adrien. It was a voracious rhythm that threatened to tear him apart and lay waste to his soul. Somewhere on the edge of oblivion, he could see Nirah now standing over the trapped slave, his expression unchanged from the moment Adrien first set eyes on him. And in that moment he knew.

Everything, anguish and ecstasy, all for this creature.

"I can show it to you, my bellus caliga," Nirah said. "I can show you what you've been searching for."

Tears pricked Adrien's lashes as he raced towards the edge of--what? Pleasure? Life? Infinity? It didn't matter. His body needed it, this nameless peak that was so close, burning just under the surface of his very being. His gaze locked with Nirah's, begging silently for what only the enigma could give him.

...please. give it to me...even if it's death...give it to me...

A faint smile answered back, the voice searing into Adrien's soul.

"All you have to do, is take my hand."

Pulse. Push. Thrust.

Smoke around him. Smoke inside him.

Dive. Swell. Burn.

It all came crashing down in that instant. Nameless, fathomless, incomprehensible, it ripped Adrien apart, it held him together. This was nothing like his times with random masters. It exceeded all his shallow games of cat and mouse. Not even the most beautiful death could compare to this thing--this...

Somewhere in reality, Adrien's hand closed around Nirah's.

The next morning, in the conservatory that served as Adrien's prison, a message scrawled in blood was the only thing found.

acquiro illud praeter letum
acquiro illud praeter expletus ^[3]

In a realm far-removed from mortals and the like, a dark entity sat on his throne, surrounded by a heavy fog. Inside this lived his servants, the Sgaileach. To human eyes, they were little more than wisps of smoke. To the one before them, the one who made them, they were the essence of the truly base and defiled.

Nirah allowed himself a small smile as the newest of the Sgaileach rested its head on his lap.

"Welcome home, bellus caliga."

~ finis ~

1 & 2: both from Romeo and Juliet, Act 2: Scene II ^[back]
3: to acquire that beyond death; to acquire that beyond perfect. (I trust I'll be forgiven for the purposely bad Latin.) ^[back]