Fiction:Realities Altered/Dysnomia/Episode 2

Part 1
The smell of meat filled his nostrils. Cooked meat, roasted. The warm, comfortable and reassuring heat that emanated from the surface of the delicious, enticing roasted leg of some creature that filled the niche of a lamb came into contact with the flesh around his maw, mainly his lips and his cheeks which were left drenched with the savory juices that only added to the seductive flavour of the chunk of cooked limb. A mix of warmth and taste flooded onto his tongue and gums, causing him to proceed further into the meat in a somewhat more animalistic fashion, as if just the flavours of the meal was a justification for him to lose his manners in a place such as this, a place of noble class usually reserved for noble traditions attended by nobles. He was only here through certain "privelidges". Large pictures were hung upon the walls, suspended within huge, ornate and decorative frames, detailing the high-class clan that lived within this secure, adequate fortress of a palace that was protected almost entirely with strong, multi-layered alloy obstructions and heavily armed, disciplined infantry and defensive units. One could easily tell this was the home of a royal and aristocratic group of residents, based upon their location, their property, the amount of defence that were deployed both internally and externally, the food they ate, all this led to the conclusion that they were important and popular, or they simply had the money to pay the common workers to contruct such a residence. Sitting across the well-crafted, wooden table was a figure, a character. A living, breathing character. She did not belong to any species-specific class, she wasn't of any distinguishable race. It was only her political standing that mattered, as well as the meaning of her character, her personal traits, her preferences, her likes and dislikes. She appeared mature but neither old nor young, as if she balanced perfectly on the fine line between both. She adorned a royal outfit as casual wear, typical of members within her family.

Maryah - Enjoying the food, dear?

Kithanan lifted his face from the tender, sweet meat that left a thrill upon his tongue and looked towards the woman who sat across from him, dining with a similar meal. It seemed the two shared some sense of taste and food, or perhaps one ate their meal for the sake of the other with hidden discontent and disatisfaction. It didn't matter much now, however. Kithanan's mouth formed into a genuine smile, expressing happiness with a tone of humour in his voice.

Kithanan - ''No need to be so formal! The food does it all for you!'' Maryah - ''The chefs really outdone themselves today, didn't they? After we are done, we can go outside and take a stroll. Maybe get some time alone.'' Kithanan - Hah, anything to get away from your old man.

Kithanan allowed a short, humble chuckle to escape his mouth before leaning towards the roasted leg he held in his hand. It smelled so good, as if one had been denied of such a thing for an extended period of time before finally being allowed to lose themselves in texture and succulency after accomplishing a beneficial objective, making the feeling of that meat being chewed upon inside your jaws all the more rewarding and philosophically adds to the meal altogether. The smell wasn't of meat, but of absolute bliss. He refrained his jaws, he didn't touch the meat further. Nothing more was consumed. He slowly lowered his arm, using his other to place a hand over a rather decorative dinner knife, inscribed with antique-style patterns that followed a floral theme. The knife's blade glimmered in the light. All senses were lost, something wasn't right. He didn't need to pick up that knife, he knew he didn't. So why?

Kithanan - ''Hm? It's sharp.''

The sound of chair legs moving against the clean, polished floor filled her ears. Maryah blinked in confusion, as if this was new behaviour for him. She knew about Kithanan's past, she knew what he was like, how he would get himself into bloody, murderous fights if he was provoked into it by some smartass who thought it would be a clever idea to pass an insult about his appearance, height, demeanour or heritage. But he hadn't acted like this before, not in front of her eyes at least. Taking slow, yet large, strides across the room, he walked beside the table towards her, the dinner knife in hand. She looked unsuspecting and innocent, like a child. It was funny, he was older than her by a small margin. Yes, as innocent as a child, or an animal. An unsuspecting, innocent animal, an infant even, wondering if it had done something wrong after tearing up a rug or chewing on a doorway. It had no idea that its owner had to punish it for its mischevious actions.

Maryah - ''You don't look well, dear. Are you feeling okay?'' Kithanan - It's sharp enough to cut meat with.

The knife was laid against the table, though still grasped within Kithanan's hand. Maryah's ears rung with the sound of crunching metal, the handle of the knife was becoming a little more like fruit pulp with every passing second it was inside Kithanan's palm. Maryah sat forward, trying to look into his panicked, rolling eyes. They frantically moved about inside his skull, as if they were being stung or shocked by some invisible force that was making its assault inside of his head, right behind the eyes. It was as if the Zazane was having an allergic reaction or an stroke while in a state of standing and confusion, he appeared physically disorientated but yet so organized, as if he almost completely knew what was going on around him and what he was doing. He took another stride forward, towards her.

Maryah - ''...Kezoreg? Are you listening to me talk?'' Kithanan - ''Shut up...It's sharp. Sharp enough...to cut meat with.''

Maryah's voice raised, but the volume was turned down to near-zero. He saw her mouth move up and down in aggressive motions, baring her teeth as if to challenge as she tried to shout out towards him. He wanted to hear her, but he couldn't. His ears had been flooded with water and drenched the entirety of his brain, or so it seemed. It pained him to see her whine like this, he didn't enjoy upsetting her. Out of all people, not her. But it seems a little too late to go back and change what had been said, she was shouting at him, raising her voice angrily. He could tell just from the motions of her mouth. The innocent tongue that spoke soft words transformed itself into a menacing snake, spitting its venomous words of rage towards him. He didn't want to become infected, he didn't want to shout back. So, he resisted his temptation and he kept quiet, quiet enough so that he could hear her again as her frustrated roars become torturous, excruciatingly painful screams. The gums that connected her mouth together from the sides became little more than small pieces of bloodied tissue on the floor and table, caused by Kithanan's swift arm stroke with the dinner knife. He didn't like the shouting. Moving the knife between his fingers so he now held it in a back-handed position, his pupils quickly moved to stare at his screaming dinner partner. The shiny, only slightly bloodied blade was soon soaked in vital fluids as it was rammed with such intent and fury into Maryah's squishy, wet eyeball, piercing it like a spoon would jelly.

There was no real expression of joy or satisfaction on Kithanan's face. Albeit, he looked more horrified if anything. It would be understandable if Maryah was, perhaps, being attacked by somebody other than him. This wasn't the case. This made no logical sense. Why would he be horrified at his own crime if he was in full control of the situation? He continued slamming the bloodied knife into her socket, her eyeball already exploded into nothing more than tiny little jelly pieces on the floor and on Kithanan's scales. Her other eye was forcefully pushed from its place by the tip of the knife as it was slammed inside her socket, it rolled across the floor like a sphere normally would before its sticky juices made it stick down. She looked like one of those ruined, abandoned plastecine dolls that street urchins would find in rubbish tips or left on the streets, except she was life-sized and dressed in fine clothes that didn't really compliment her new crimson appearance. Her body slumped down, with what remained of her face buried into her meal although she didn't appear to be eating for some strange, odd reason. Perhaps she lost her appetite. The knife made a *clang* sound as it hit the floor. It appears Kithanan had made a bit of a mess. Silly Kithanan.

Kithanan's eyes bulged within their sockets, watering intensely as fluid dripped onto the cold, metal floor beneath his feet. Tired pants rushed from his mouth and escaped into the air, an aghast expression sat upon his bloodied face. His body twitched and trembled like a freshly slain corpse that still retained its nerves. His pupils slowly moved towards the cold, disembowled body of the woman that was at the table, who had been feasting alongside him while passing delightful compliments of praise just a few minutes ago. Now, she was meat. Butchered meat. The soft tissues had been carved out already. Before Kithanan could possibly continue further in his little quest to explore the wonders of cleaving, he heard a similar voice fill the empty air in the hall. He didn't dare look back however.

Kithanan - It's sharp enough to cut meat with...but she isn't meat... Koluap - ...What did you do?

Kithanan turned his head away from the cadaver, slowly looking towards the man with a sad, meloncholy look upon his face while fluids squeezed out of the space between his red eyeballs and his sockets. He could already see reality beginning to twist itself further; the scales upon Koluap's body began to substitute their colour for a more fitting colour for the occasion, like black. Pitch black. Kithanan tried to look into Koluap's once friendly, comforting eyes, but in the attempt he only saw the radiating, amaranthine glow of dreaded purple, an everlasting glow that would gleefully imprint its ghastly image upon the conscious of any mortal or immortal being capable of feeling the instinctive, primal emotion of fear.

Kithanan - ...Why...Why did I carve her...She wasn't to be served... Koluap - What did you do?! Kithanan - ''I...I butchered her...for no reason. I don't know...why. It felt...it felt natural and...uncontrollable.''

Kithanan felt every fiber of his being become entangled within one another, struggling to break apart forcefully as the entirety of his being consumed and swallowed, engulfed within the maw of shadows and blackness. His drenched, watering eyes became useless in the cimmerian shade, this dull void of nothingness. Well, it could have been called nothingness if the statement were true. There was one thing Kithanan could feel in the immense obscure twilight; his eardrums as they received a high-pitched, screeching sound. It was a horrifying, blood-curdling, constant scream in the darkness. It sounded unfamiliar, yet he could easily identify the sound. He was adjusting his hearing to it, he knew the scream was just a result of shock and trauma. He began to calm, the sound became clearer. It went from a bone-wrenching screech into something that perhaps he would have been better off without knowing. Ignorance is bliss, they often say. Ignorance wasn't an option here, he was being forced and pushed to endure the pain as its volume became louder and louder, unable to provide the barrier to his brain to drain and filter out the sound.

It was a baby's cry.

Kithanan - ...What the hell is this?

Kithanan's eyes burned as light struck his eyes, it was a faint light but in this darkness even that was enough to inflict some pain towards the eyes. He had to close his eyelids for a moment to block out the faint, dull light. After applying more liquid to his eyeballs, he looked towards the source of the illumination. They widened, allowing more glow to hit them although he did not think to shut them. Instead, they provided a burning yet stinging sensation as the poor, tormented soul tried to make out the best of what he could. From what he could identify with his agonized vision, a silhouette, a feminine figure. A muscular type of physique complimented with an hour glass-like shape to the torso and waist. Beside this figure, some sort of mode of manual transport. A two-wheeled object with a basket balanced upon these wheels, provided with a cover that obscured whatever was inside. A baby carriage, the shape was very familiar. Kithanan's heart felt as if it has been pierced by a needle threading a thick string of affliction, the needle itself representing anguish. He slowly lifted his foot, taking a cautious step forward with his body beginning to twitch and tweak once more. Like a fresh corpse.

Kithanan - No, this isn't the truth...It musn't be. ??? - ''...Stay away from me! You'll only bring us more suffering!''

Kithanan did not heed the woman's words, he continued forward as if he had grown deaf once more, although this time it was by choice. In his voice was a shaky and reluctant tone, joined with a side of desperation.

Kithanan - ...Let me see my child!

Kithanan's head lowered, he was starting to lose control. He attempted to look up, but it was as if his body's movements had become inverted and he could not help but look even further down towards the ground. He was unable to see the face of this feminine silhouette who cried in protest in an attempt to shoo him away, while also incapacitated from seeing what resided within the carriage as it shrieked out for attention, or maybe in pain, confusion or sadness. The screams were more damaging than scissors to paper, stabbing Kithanan's vulnerable eardrums like a freshly sharpened and heated blade that had found itself slammed and lodged inside his head.

??? - You'll only abandon us again! Kithanan - ''I did what I had to! I'm back now! Don't you dare deny of my place in this family!''

Kithanan let out gasps for air as he clenched the muscles and tendons throughout his body, placing his body within a state of pressurizing stress. His thumping heart began to drain itself of sadness and melancholic inflictions, substituting such with adrenalizing pain. His body began to convulse upon itself, with all appendages and limbs trembling and shaking uncontrollably. Veins across his body began to appear as thin, black creases that began to slowly lift themselves up from his flesh. His clawed hands remained clenched tightly, his nails starting to penetrate into the sensitive flesh upon his palms while the black creases started to arise from his wrists. Finally, the creases ascended upon his neck. Within moments, he forced his head upwards and away from the ground, finally forcing his eyes towards the face of the feminine, womanly figure who stood beside the carriage.

Kithworto - ...Failure of a student. Kithanan - ...Father.

His eyes had been deceived. Standing before him was no woman, no feminine figure of attractive or explicit detail. It wasn't even Zazane. The body type of this powerful, threatening figure was, however, thin and very muscular, which showed through the armour he wore; it really complimented the tones upon his arms and torso. He stood over Kithanan, looking down at the disgraceful excuse of a supposed "Kicath"; this had been the ethnicity that Kithanan took up after disposing of the name that had troubled and aggravated him in his past, given to him by a woman who held no authority, respect or place within his life any longer. She was not even worth a mere memory, she was worthless to him as she was to many people. The mighty demigod reached his extensive, Herculean arm into the carriage and wrapped his fingers around the bratty infant that occupied it. Kithanan's face remained in its shamed and embarassed expression as he observed the face of the baby as it was lifted from its transport; it was Kithanan, albeit much smaller with his tail wrapped around itself in a foetus-like position, inside a non-existant womb. Kithworto's grip upon the infant was released as he threw the brawn of his arm downwards, allowing the infant to descend downwards towards the demise of the ground. Not even taking a step forward to attempt a catch, Kithanan watched in utter silence as the embryo collided with the blackness that both him and Kithworto stood upon, watching as the youngling's skin became cracked and shattered in an explosion of glass-like material. If this was a dream, it certainly didn't feel like it judging by the large number of glass shards that dug themselves through Kithanan's eyelids and buried themselves deep into his sockets, puncturing his eyeballs.

Then it all disappeared in the space of a second. Disorientation and discombobulation followed swift, fulfilling their purpose of attempting to make Kithanan either stumble onto his side or have him bring up the contents of his latest meal. He let out a rather disgusting belch, unleashing a slight stench of sick and corpse into the air around him before his vision began to clear for him. Again, there was blackness and sound. The sound of panting, heavy breathing. It wasn't his, it was of a different tone with a different cause. Lying beaten and bruised, bloodied and beaten, was a Zazane that suffered heavy, Essence-like wounds across the entirety of its body. A broken crest hid the features of the Zazane's face, bleeding severely his severed wounds. It also appeared as if he had lost some of his sight from the eyeball that lay at Kithanan's foot, staring up at him blankly while blood dripped from the drenched stalk. Kithanan's face went from shame to anger in a matter of moments, his eyes welling up with reddened tears and a scowl evolving from his frown.

Kithanan - Why are you tormenting me...I never wanted to see him again! Zazane - Finish me off...it's what you always wanted, is it not? Kithanan - ''Urgh, get away from me! It didn't...It didn't end like this!'' Zazane - End the one you always deemed "weak" and "pathetic"! Kithanan - I wouldn't give you the satisfaction!

Kithanan's hand rested upon his own crest as he felt harrowing pain rush through his cranium upon laying his eyes onto the Zazane's body. The pain...it's symphonized perfectly with laughter. Crazed laughter, a psychotic cachninnation. Was certifiable amusement being had from this suffering torment? Absurd, berserk laughter echoed within his skull, fighting to either find or create a method of escape. It did not matter whether or not his bones were reinforced with Shidium layers and Essences, the pain of a laughing drill filled with the intent of destroying his head until it was nothing more could not be ignored. It was while he was trying to force the pain from his head that the Zazane on the ground slowly stood, it's head facing down. Then, eye contact was made with a single, supernaturally fast upwards jolt from the Zazane's head. A stare was established, but not wanted, at least from Kithanan's side. But which Kithanan? The one that stood in pain, or the one that stood laughing at his reflection, whose aura had become corrupted and tainted by destructive energies which forced their presence even unto his flesh.

Demon Kithanan - BECOME ME.

Kithanan stepped back upon making eye contact with his doppleganger, if that's what one could really call such an entity. It appeared similar to Kithanan in many ways, and yet he was different as well. His appearance was mirror-like, although distorted and twisted like the reflections you'd find in mirror houses. His eyes were like that of his own, but one could not really identify if they really were his or if this entity had "stolen" or "inherited" an imperfect copy. The Firesword, the only object within this void that provided any form of comfort or reassurance towards its wielder, vanished. It was just him now. Just Kithanan. Alone, yet surrounded on all sides, incapable of escape.

Kithanan - I promised father I would become NOTHING like you! Demon Kithanan - ''Father is false. Both of them are false. Become me. Join your real kin.'' Kithanan - ''I would rather die! In fact...I'd rather you died!''

Kithanan found himself screaming out into the blackness as his wrists exploded, shortly followed by his elbows, his knees, his toes and each joint of his fingers as well as the back of his hands. The bloody explosions were sudden and quick, although not the sort of "quick" that would avoid pain. The pain was very reminescent to rope burn, although admittedly it burned a lot faster and a hell of a lot more arduous. Kithanan's screams provoked a bout of laughter from his contorted reflection, who began to move with a crooked gait and a wide, unnecessary grin. He spread his arms and leaned his head back, laughs and roars were allowed to roam free from his between his jaws. Kithanan's screams were blotted out by the insane laugh that filled the void, eventuall both dying down to a level where Kithanan could focus on the situation at hand. His pupils looked down towards his bloodied hands, before gasping out with an element of shock and disbelief. Erupting from his joints were thin, barely noticeable threads consisting of a string-like material, though it felt like burning iron bars had been blasted through his entire body.

He saw more of this thread bursting from patches of skin upon the apparition's body, who simply laughed with no words, a large, jaw-filled smirk creeping upon his face like an arachnid or some other form of life that is somewhat similar. It took a moment to realize that the threads all led upwards, there was no down. A feeling of dread shortly followed, a reluctance to look up. Too many revelations and discoveries had been made already, he didn't want to find another, at least not within this environment where he had become powerless to whatever this void had to throw at him. But he had no choice in the matter, as his face was unwillingly lifted "upwards", if there was any real direction here. And there he saw it. A hand clenched around a large control bar designed to handle wires and strings, massive in proportion compared to Kithanan's body size. And red lights, three red lights.

Kithanan - What...What is this? ??? - This is your life! Kithanan - ''Get out! Why do you continue to persist in punishing me...I have done nothing to deserve your dislike!'' ??? - Your father helped curse me...cut out my wings...turned me into a half-mortal scum...besides you are a thorn on my allies' side. Kithanan - I would rather be a thorn in their side than a gun in their hand! ??? - This is hardly your choice.

Kithanan's eyes flickered as he heard the crunching, crackling sound of the earth beneath his feet being disrupted by some unearthly and godly intervention, disrupting the world around him as it shook and troe itself apart destructively. As the ground beneath Kithanan's feet gored itself in half like a massive, deep cut in the flesh, the "blood" was the fires that poured out from the massive crevice. These fires touched Kithanan's skin, with the burning sensation similar to that of bee stings when multiplied by several thousand and burying deep into the internal organs as well as the flesh, all across the exterior of the physical being. Despite the inferno pressing itself across Kithanan's flesh and biting at every molecule upon his person, he continued to resist and growled towards the three lights that stared down towards him.

??? - You will join us, willingly or not! Kithanan - You shall have to drag me kicking and screaming!

Kithanan forced his whole body into a 180 degree turn, demanding his blood to flood the muscles in his legs as he went to run forward, away from the massive crack in the floor that led towards level upon level of soul-destroying demonic fire. A crevice filled with ethereal magma, an open wound leaking with incorporeal blood of ferocious temperatures. Kithanan's legs ran as fast as he could demand them to, with his own vital essences rushing around beneath his scales at a speed that would make even the most athletic and fastest of human beings either blush or drop down in shame. However, there was a withstanding sense of dread and inevitability in the air and Kithanan could feel it perfectly within his pounding heart. In the process of his turn, the strings that once attached his body to the marionette handle above his head were destroyed and ripped from his skin, leaving behind gaping scars that allowed blood to spit and pour from them like taps.

??? - ''Is that a challenge? If so, challenge accepted...''

Kithanan felt the crushing grip of large, bone-like fingers wrap around his torso, pressurizing his near-invincible ribs through his dissipitating flesh, practically degenerating into figments of ash from the incinerating aura of the crevice below his feet. It mattered not how much his muscles worked, how much his blood raced around his aching veins, he could not escape from this murderous grip as it continued to crush the bones throughout his torso. As he felt everything inside of him slowly turn into little more than paste, the aura of fire became more apparent. His body began to degenerate faster, his blood becoming little more than blazing oil at this point. With a silenced scream struggling to free itself from his bleeding, spluttering jaws, Kithanan felt every particle of his existence die horribly and painfully before further becoming little more ash within ash, his flesh already lost at this point and his tendons and other interior muscles soon to follow within the next few microseconds. The whole process of his being becoming transformed into nothingness would take under a minute, but the sheer pain of it would make it feel as if it lasted a lifetime.

Kithanan's eyes made the effort to lift themselves slowly and lazily, no sense of urgency or panic. His room was filled with a bizarre mix of leftover meals, unwanted and greasy fast food packages that had yet to find their way to the nearest waste disposal unit and old memorabillia surrounding a variety of musical genres that were often not very popular at the time, such as extreme, experimental and progressive metal which was often considered "noise" towards the elders of Andromedan society although was particularly enjoyed by the younger and middle-aged generations who had not been raised in a society filled with set manners and discouraged the thought of the galaxy as a bad place. Yeah right, back then they were just sugar-coating the truth. This was why Kithanan liked such genres; they expressed the primal evils within oneself and the sheer uselessness of attempting to find comfort within society and those within for they all shared the same inner monsters someplace within their conscious. That and the discordant system that these genres followed felt appropriate for the current era. Kithanan raised himself from his bed without a word, let alone a yawn.

Kithanan - I count this as the 36400th time.