Utopolis 1
The city lay in ruins, as impossible as it seemed. An ocean of flames consumed the land where the metropolis once stood...but how could this be? It boasted as the perfect city, the perfect defense, and the perfect society, impregnable in all respects...lo, there stood a figure! His silhouette magnified by the hellish inferno, a menacing physique, indeed. A large, billowing cloak, broad shoulders, a long, flowing mane of arcane moonlight silver reflecting the crimson and ochre flame, clutched at his right a malicious scythe that Death itself would fear. He glances over his shoulder, terrifying, piercing eyes of bloody gold and topaz stare over a high collar. A face is seen, but it cannot be! Staring into a mirror, and only the darkest shadow glares back...
"NO!!!" came a scream to the empty bedroom, accompanied by feverish panting and gasping, cold sweat drenches the bed sheets. In a panicked dash he - Gus - bound to the window, the curtain drawn and blocking an ill omen of a fiery light. The shudders burst open to expose the outside upon which a gust of brisk morning air cordiality greeted, showing that the city was still intact and boasting a wild flower sunrise peaking over the horizon. He let out a sigh like a worried parent might after finding a lost child, dropping to his knees and resting his elbows upon the windowsill, then flipping about to sit on his bum, one leg bent up at his chest and the other resting on the ground.
"Thank the gods, thank the gods, thank the gods," he chanted for a few seconds, regaining his breath and regulated blood pressure. He sighed again, this one much smaller, refreshed by the breeze from the window that passed over his sweat-covered body, feeling a chill up and down his powerfully built physique. His eyes rested upon the mirror opposite said window, reflecting a body to be proud of - this one not depicting previous demonic imagery. 6'7" in height and built like a Clydesdale brick house, silky tan fur with a white 'glove' for each 3-digit hoof, smooth charcoal knuckles as opposed to crystalline pewter (like in the nightmare). A milk chocolate mane that falls to his pertinent nipples down a side of his long, white-lined snout accessorized with deep, ocean blue, narrow eyes - the ones that are commonly known as "Bedroom Eyes". His broad, muscled chest sported a slightly lighter shade, tracing over a narrowing torso to end under his crotch (hanging from which a common-place, dark-colored horse endowment, at full size but lacking in erectness - he commonly sleeps in the buff). He smiled at the reflection, his normal colors, and not the black fur and silver mane like the one in his dream.
He grunted and rose from his seat, his braided tail falling behind him and swaying in his step from the window to the bathroom door, needing a shower after his terrifying nightmare. He had slightly larger than normal washing accommodations, a perk of the High Council since no one in the entire city can keep track of the literature of the Grand Library like he, the royal librarian, can. Having arisen earlier than he normally would on a workday like today, he found himself with a full hour in which to waste - a few thoughts went through his mind. A bountiful cone of steaming hot water cascaded over the stallion's pelt, matting the fur in but a few seconds as he swept his hooves over his body.
With a careful touch he reached behind and began undoing the braid of his tail, so it would not grow mildew. The base of his tail perked a bit, making it easier for him to untie the long hairs growing from the extended flesh at the end of his spine. The final tresses soaked in the water, one hoof lifting the tail up as the other felt about a red and swollen anus, making him wince at the tender flesh. It had always been painful to touch, ever since that night 12 years ago...
~
An exuberant teenager named Gus, a fledging into puberty, travels with his older brother, Brady. They'd gotten notice to evacuate from their village before the swarm of evil shadow beasts could devour them, and to flee to the city-state of Utopolis, the last known Sanctuary to stand against the rising demonic menace. It was when they were traveling through the Grotte de la Démence - a remote jungle rich with fungi whose spores have notoriety to bring out the deepest instincts and most vile of desires - that they had feasted upon mushrooms due to their dwindling supply of rations. Night fell, and they both felt themselves dizzied, unfocused, and hearing their own voices speak to them.
The humidity was certainly something they were not used too, since being from the Highlands way up north they only donned their kilts and no armor. Throughout the day Gus found himself staring longingly at his brother, his eyes dancing across the dark chocolate pelt his brother boasted, how each muscle appeared sculpted and pieced by master artisans. His thoughts were filled with images he didn't know were possible, and concepts completely foreign; he'd accidentally seen his brother mount a mare before, but instead his memories shown himself in the female's place.
There they sat next to the campfire, at wit's end after just a day in the hellish grotto. Gus fidgeted and twitched, Brady remaining completely calm, almost dazed. The colt panted softly, trying everything he could not to stare at his brother, but the insanity from the mushrooms gave him no peace; erotic images dancing like malicious imps about his imagination. Gus could stand it no more, and as if his mind snapped he tore off his own kilt and lunged into his brother's lap, pulling the plaid cloth away and grabbing hold of the elder's thick package, shoving the tip into his maw and suckling it hungrily.
Brady gasped in surprise, leaning back then panting heavily; the last strand of sanity he clutched was cut lustfully as his hoof set on his brother's head and rubbed over his neck, his shaft hardening in the young, hot muzzle. Gus cradled the heavy orbs and swallowed the plump, ebony cock, bobbing his maw over the hot throbbing pillar of meat. Not long after the initial assault, Brady sprayed a thick rope of pent up cream into the colt's virgin throat, quickly spilling from his lips and over his own ballsac.
Gus's eyes shot open the instant his brother's seed hit his tongue, like the 'shroom-induced madness was whisked away darkness in the presence of a flash of light. He began to gag, no longer drowned in lust but now drowning of hot seed from his brother - whom had no intentions of stopping. Gus whimpered as he quickly remembered what he provoked, beginning to cry as his brother's shaft plunged into his throat, filling his stomach with thick cream. Brady released his hoof, the colt pulling off and gasping as he gulped down the remaining cum, his muzzle and lips covered in the essence of his brother.
"Brady...!" whined Gus as he backed off, his elder brother soon crawling over to him, his cock still rigid and throbbing, a dangerous lusty look in his eyes as he glared over poor Gus. The colt whimpered and spun to escape, only to trip and land face down, unknowingly presenting himself to the sex-maddened stallion behind him; Gus attempted to escape again, but felt a strong hoof grab his ankle. He looked mortified over his shoulder, quivering as Brady crawled over his brother, straddling his hips and parting his virgin rump cheeks. "Brady..." pleaded Gus, sniffing softly in vain as his older brother gave his cries no acknowledgment, only lifting his back end up higher and pushing the bulbous head of his merciless cock against the virgin anus. Gus gasped as tears beaded at the corners of his eyes, biting his lower lip and clenching the ground, bracing himself as best he could, "Please...don't..." he whimpered once more, but his begging fell on deaf ears...
~
The memory of that night always haunted him, and the sore anus didn't help to relieve the travesty. It felt like it wasn't the act that was so horrible, but their deathly silence that infected the next 2 days when they tried so fervently to look at each other. Eventually they talked over what happened, and forgave each other for what they did, but Gus could never forget...that is to say, his ass would never let him forget. Over the 12 years his wounds healed to some degree, but it was always unbearable whenever he sat for too long, or excreted too bountifully. The same chain of thoughts passed his mind when his anal rim ached, feeling the seed of his brother pass through his body, flushing it out later that night; it always ended with an attempt to think of something happier, like getting ready for the day ahead. He stood before his standing mirror after drying off, combing his main and tying it back, slipping on his pants and tunic, tying the shawl around his shoulders and grabbing the cane that acted as a symbol of his position.
Out the door and down the steps, greeting the normal assortment of passerby and food cart curators, flipping 3 silver coins to the fruit seller for 3 apples as breakfast. When he reached the steps of the royal library he tossed the core of the last apple into his maw and licked his hooves clean (quickly drying them on the shawl) before opening the magically-locked doors with his cane. He was rather surprised by the sheer lack of patrons, but merely thought it linked with the new projects popping up around the city; such days made it relaxing and easy to properly organize the library. At the book checkout desk he discarded his shawl and cane into a safe keeping place, revealing the navy blue vest and white blouse he wore underneath. He grabbed a nearby cart and loaded it with the returns, setting off for his normal routine with a soft smile and a gentle song.
"The Chieftain War...Growing Corn...The Life of Bartholomew the Majestic..." Gus listed to himself, carting books to their destinations one by one, but finding a bit of a snag when the place for the final returned book was high above his head; the ladder was over by 'D', and there he was in 'V'. He sighed and contemplated spending the time to do a task safely and properly, then figured that the book cart was stable enough to hold his weight. With great care, he stepped from one height of the cart to the other, standing up on the 3 foot wheeled implement, but lamenting that the shelf he needed was still another 2' above. He contemplated hopping down from the cart and spending the time to do a task safely and properly, then figured he could reach high enough to put the book in its place.
He tilted his hind hoofs to their tips, reaching up and grabbing a shelf to stable him, then stretching the literature-laden arm to poke the book into its slot. Success! With a nudge of his finger the last return was right where it should be; as he gave a soft sigh of accomplishment his hind hoof slipped on the top of the cart and caused him to lose his footing. In a panic he grabbed onto a shelf with both fore hooves and curled up a bit, sitting his hind hooves on a lower shelf so he wouldn't fall. His ears erected when he heard the cart ram into the bookcase behind him, and on impulse he jumped the gap between bookcases he knew he couldn't reach across, in hopes to add needed weight to keep one from toppling over. Despite his good intentions he caused the one he was on earlier to tilt from the force of his jump, triggering a devastating domino reaction.
His face buried into the bookshelf he clung to, the stallion dared not glance over his shoulder at the assumed catastrophe following the pandemonium of over 2 dozen toppled bookcases, each roughly the size of the broad side of a barn. A discontented groan escaped his lips, meticulously stepping from the shelf with the utmost care. Sighing heavily, he treaded in disbelief to the aisle off to the side, his face pale and head hung.
"This'll take days to fix..." he grumbled, falling to his knees and wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear. The corner of his eye caught the ladder sticking out from the wreckage, sighing heavily again. He shook his head, knowing full well sulking won't get the job done; so he sat himself down and crossed his arms as he tried to recall the inventory. Eyes shut as he delved into his memory banks, pulling out names and titles from A-Z, tapping his hoof knuckles against his arms whilst he pictured where each book went on which shelf in which bookcase.
A quarter hour went by in deep thought before he stood again, dusting himself off and glaring on towards his problem with a fiery eye, ready to fix his problem, only to find that there was no problem to fix. Every case, every shelf, every book placed in perfect order, like they never fell. He could only look on in disbelief, soon questioning his own sanity.
"That's...not possible..." he muttered quietly to the silent library, walking over to the cart, and placing a wavering hoof on the case next to it, feeling the sturdy wood. His eyes scanned the titles and each one in the place exactly as he remembered it. "Maybe I'm coming down with something..." he pondered softly to himself, so sure that there was a calamity despite the overpowering evidence that there wasn't. In haste he returned to his desk, stowing the cart and plopping into his chair, staring at the bookcases, as if expecting a cruel 'Gotcha!' to pop out at any moment. Hours of paperwork passed and nothing out of the ordinary occurred, much to Gus's mixed feeling of relief and suspicion.
The library remained quiet as a cemetery, and as Gus looked up to the stain glass depicting an accurate timetable of the day, he found that the shadow of the sundial fitted into the window was pointed at lunchtime; before he dismissed it for more time to work his stomach growled a rather persuasive rebuttal. He chuckled and patted his belly, standing from his desk, wincing as his tailhole recalled its soreness. He grumbled and rubbed his rump some; sighing and glancing up he found a well-dressed feline standing behind the desk, a book in his paw. Gus mentally reeled back at the startling figure before him, but kept visibly calm as he smiled cordially, "Hello sir, how may I help you?" he politely inquired, sitting back down and hiding the sudden discomfort from sitting on his sore rump.
The librarian scanned over the patron with hidden cynicism; Utopolis boasted its defenses for at carnivorous denizens, keeping the "prey" inside and sanctified. The daemonic menace terrorizing the landscape beyond the safety of the city-state walls had horrifying effects on the predatory individuals (tigers, wolves, sharks, etc.), primarily it drove them insane with Bloodlust, slaughtering and viciously devouring anything besides other meat eaters. Those that were infected with the Bloodlust were kept in the concentration camps just outside the city, making for further defenses against the evil shadows that lurked outside. However, a few of the "Carnies" (that were marked "Tamed", such as small cats, dolphins - and in some cases - bears) were given amnesty, but they could only eat fish and foul, and took residence in slums on the inner edge of the city-state. Gus knew plenty the political status of cats, and the fact that before him stood a black-furred feline in noble's clothes was indeed suspicious.
"You've helped me plenty, honored overseer of the royal literature," beamed the cat, "I've indulged many an hour reading and rereading this spellbinding book, and felt it only fitting to return such marvelous prose in person." Having said that, he set the book upon the desk and shown the horse another charming cat-like smile, rows of small fangs glinting beneath a lax array of whiskers. Gus wished nothing more than to distance himself as far from this cat as possible, yet whether through the restraint of social graces or the feline's enigmatical magnetism, he simply couldn't.
Luckily enough, the cat turned to leave, and Gus realized that another book sat away from its proper spot. Once again the library fell silent, leaving the stallion alone to replace the askew literature, and then have himself a bit of lunch afterwards. Upon reaching the designated case it became evident that the shelf lay high above his head. His ears perked, smirking to himself, and couldn't believe the turn of events that allowed him to correct his mistake so soon. In a manner of minutes he was up and down the ladder, book in place, and everything as it should be. Setting hoof into the aisle his ears perked again, hearing the suspicious creaking of a teetering bookcase, then a frightening familiar sound of crashing books and shelves. Gus spun around and stared dumbfounded at the calamity before him, 2 dozen bookcases lay like an array of fallen dominos. His aghast brow soon furrowed as he became indignant, quickly suspecting some plot against him after thinking this predicament through.
The bookcases weighed 700lbs each, and were 3' thick at least; he couldn't push one over even if he wanted to. He scratched his chin, raised a brow, and seriously questioned how he even toppled the bookcases the first time. Both brows raised, a looking of curiosity filling his eyes as he thought back to how this was the first time; he smiled, sitting down and closing his eyes, crossing his arms and delving once more into his deep thoughts.
He began with A and didn't stop until he got to G, opening his eyes to find that - as he suspected - books and cases were arranging themselves as he mentally called them off. Standing with pride and hooves on his hips he ran quicker down the list, watching with a smile and a hint of boyish giddiness as Z placed its last book. Air whisked under his step as he strutted back to his desk, humming delightfully to himself; and with a sudden dose of reality he wondered how he was able to do this. He'd never taken lessons in magic, in fact it was forbidden to use anything other than healing spells (which were only permissible to doctors and priests); whatever he'd just done should never be known to anyone but himself.
"Impressive," said an ominous voice from behind. Gus jumped out of his skin and spun around lightning fast, clutching his desk as he came face to face with the noble feline from before. "I saw the whole thing and I must say, you're quite the magician," beamed the cat, nodding over his shoulder to the bookcases, "Do tell, what ever did you do?" Gus could only stare in silence, voicing only with an "Uhh..."
"No, I didn't think so," laughed the cat, patting the horse on the shoulder. When they touched, Gus felt a dark, foreboding shadow loom over him, yet it stood like the shade of a tree in an intense heat; he immediately suspected that this cat wasn't entirely truthful. He narrowed his eyes and stared into the golden irises beyond black fur. "You're not a Tamed," stated Gus, "you're a Carnie." The cat smiled, though not the same magnetic grin from before.
"I began to worry you didn't know your own Blood," replied the stranger. Gus became scared, and then swatting the paw away from his shoulder as he switched to being indignant, "I am not a cat, and I'm certainly not a carnivore!" he snarled. The cat smirked again, "I agree with the former, the latter I'll let you find out for yourself; but I don't speak of that..." What the ebony stranger spoke next was a language that had been forgotten for a millennium, yet Gus could understand every word perfectly, "...You are an Arc Blood."
Gus felt his body fall into an eternal void, yet stood on firm ground; enveloped in darkness that stretched beyond space, time, and probability, yet surrounded by innumerable arcane runes and circles. In 1 billionth of 1 billionth of a blink of an eye, Gus returned to the library, standing right where he was, and not a single thing had changed...save for one less mysterious stranger. He fell to his knees and panted profusely, gulping and quivering as he remembered the image he saw: the mysterious patron stood with him in the darkness, except he stood as a lion with black fur and a silver mane, cloaked in a dark billowing cloak. He felt a pang of shock shoot through his heart, like he'd seen someone so similar before...but something blocked that memory.
A shake of his head and rising to his hind hooves, he brushed off his pants and held his head, trying to make sense of what just happened. Something caught his attention as he stood, swishing his tail and bending his legs a bit. His brows raised to his ears, looking over his shoulder and feeling his rump to find that it was no longer sore. Quick steps brought him to the libraries restroom, turning his back to the mirror above the sink and undoing the fastening of his pants, bringing the down just far enough to see beneath his tail. He gasped, lifting his haunches a bit more and brushing his tail to the side, finding that his once red, swollen anus had returned to the color it had been before that night 12 years ago.
He felt he could cry with happiness, rubbing a hoof digit across the puckered flesh, and only feeling a tiny tingle up his spine as opposed to the bolt of pain whenever it was touched. What shed the tear, however, was the revelation that he could finally look his brother in the eyes for the first time in a dozen years. He pulled his pants back up and fastened them, feeling his soul finally know delight after so long; he gazed back at himself through the mirror, planning to sport his kilt, and visit his brother's pub that very night.
The day couldn't go quick enough, but after lunch more patrons finally showed up, and as the sun began to set Gus practically jumped from his desk and closed the library up nice and secure. With every fiber of social graces and restraint he walked at normal pace back to his abode, but the instant he walked in the door he threw his clothes from his body and bound to his closet, foraging through his wardrobe to find his casual kilt, grinning wide as he slid it on, fastening the sash and sporran. As a final touch he set the beret upon his head, and walked out the door, shirtless and without pants.
Trotting down the lamp-lit street he came upon his brother's modest pub, "The Jolly Dragon" (named because dragons being thought mythical, and because Brady lost a bet). He breathed deep, swelling his chest and smiling wide, taking the step into the door. Inside it was Highland Night, a time when all those that fled the Highlands came together in their plaids and celebrated having made such a proud life in Utopolis. Rams and sheep, horses and mares, goats and ewes, all congregated in Brady's pub and dressed like Gus. With a smile the cream colored stallion sat quietly at the bar, soon approached by an unknowing older brother. Gus peaked up through his mane, smiling as he saw how good the years have been to his brother, he hardly looked different.
"What'll it be?" asked the bartender with a cordial smile. Gus looked up to his brother's eyes, smiling warmly as Brady quickly realized who sat before him. "Gus...?" His mouth hung open, then curled into a teary smile. He walked from behind the bar and stood next to the stool as Gus arose from his seat. Brady looked over his shy brother, unable to say anything, so summing up his entire reaction with a great, big, brotherly hug. Gus embraced his brother in return, not speaking a word between them, simply holding one another.
After a short while of gentle sniffling and hugging, Brady finally broke the embrace and faced his pub, introducing his younger brother. The night went on merrily, Gus meeting with the circle of friends Brady had accumulated, his sister-in-law, nephews and niece. Hours went by far too quickly, finally as tomorrow came Gus bid his friends and family a good night, promising not to be a stranger. The walk through a warm-aired night felt like a garden stroll, Gus staring up at the menagerie of stars far above his head, feeling as if everything was right with the world.
He padded through the street with a wandering mind, bathed in soft golden glow of the lamps. He stopped and decided to stand and enjoy the gentle breeze whisking across his pelt and through his mane; soon his repose was broken when the lamp above him spontaneously went out. He stared up at the unlit lamp, soon noticing that there was more light before him then behind; glancing over his shoulder told him that every lamp on his path was dark. Decision made, he started for home.
The next lamp he stepped beneath went out as sudden as the first, giving Gus an uncomfortable spinal chill. His pace quickened, yet the darkness from the lamps continued on before him, leaving the streets with only starlight to illuminate. Gus glanced about, the buildings cold and ghostlike; one lamp sparked to life immediately above him, all around enveloped in darkness. "You still don't know your own Blood..." bled from the ebony air, sounding ominously familiar. The mustang spun around, trying to find the origin of this eerie voice, then finding a silver-crowned shadow with haunting golden eyes; the light of the lamp bursting in blinding radiance.
"Wake up!"