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He Who Would Be Master: Chapter 10

"Othello!" Angel tried to move, but doing so scratched every bone in splintering agony. He tried anyways, and managed to prop himself up on his hands. "Othello... Where..." He looked around and saw only blurry pastels and muted whites. "M-Master... Where are... y-you...?" He was suddenly falling, with stinging pulling sensation under his skin. Still he tried. "Master... Where are y-you Master...?"

He remembered feeling so cold, but now he felt dry and hot, burnt to a crisp. He licked dry lips and moved toward sounds from an open door. He pulled at the hooks under his skin.

"Master?" Angel raised his head towards the sudden activity headed his way. Strong hands were pulling him back. "No... No! T-Take me to him!" He tried to pull away, but his muscles were totally drained of strength. "Master! Kaard! Othello!!! Where are you?!"

The voices talking to him were loud, but Angel couldn't understand them. He was forced face down on what he figured out to be a bed. His face was turned to the side so he could breathe. His vision was starting to clear and he could make out an older man in a doctor's uniform.

"Please..." Angel gave in a raspy whisper. "Where's my Master...?"

"Your... What--?"

"OTHELLO!" Angel yelled in a broken voice. "Othello... Marquee... Montague..."

"Mr. Montague is right next to you, one bed over..." The Doctor said slowly.

Angel flopped back and turned his face to look at his Master. What he saw was enough to drive him into panic afresh. There was no Othello. Just a body. Wrapped from head to foot in bloody wrappings, like a mummy. Without the strength to freak out, Angel tipped back over into unconsciousness.

* * *

He'd wake up again and look at his man, always wrapped up, never moving, with strangers crowding him, or all alone. Either way, Angel was never awake for long, but when ever he was, he'd give Othello's body his full attention, trying to figure out why they didn't just take him away...

* * *

Angel awoke, feeling like shit rewarmed, but better than he had in a long time. He sat up on his knees and glanced over at Othello's bed. There was a broad back, covered in the dark blue of a police uniform squatting on a chair that was too small to be funny and an offensive shade of orange.

"What are you doing...?" Angel promptly kicked himself for not asking who the man was. Fortunately, that question was answered when the man turned around to answer.

"Same as you, I guess..." J muttered, "I'm waiting."

"What for...?" Angel visibly relaxed.

"For your man to Awaken."

"He's alive?" Angel's body lurched forward, as if he wanted to jump through J to be on the other bed.

"As far as the doctors here can tell, no." J whispered softly.

"No, he has to be!" Angel said, now totally confused. "You're waiting for him and he still has to fight your stupid war for you!"

"You put a lot of stock in what people say to you, don't you...?" J sighed. "He hasn't taken a breath since you brought him in..."

"What does that mean, really?" Angel asked.

J looked him over then. "What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?"

"Wha-- ME?" Angel checked himself over and everything seemed fine but for a hard shell of scabs over his back. "Nothing... I'm healing--"

When Angel looked back, J was staring hard into his eyes. "Not your body, son... why aren't you going ape-shit right now?"

That was a good question. Angel was scared, damaged, alone, and had just been told that his man was dead.

Why wasn't he angry?

"I don't know..." Angel said. "Shock?"

J picked up a bottle Angel didn't notice before and dripped some of the liquid into his eyes. Those eyes looked angel over, then widened in alarm. Then he rounded on the mummy with a roar. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

J gripped the bandages in both fists and started shaking the body. The bandages reared up like snakes and began winding up J's thick arms, making for his neck. Angel watched all this, and noted that his brain didn't short this time.

Jay, starting to choke on the gauze on his throat and invading his mouth, laid the body back and released his grip. The bandages retreated.

Now that Angel could see clearly, he saw that the entire room was crawling with the bandages, like creeping vines, or webbing and that they made a circled around Angel's bed.

J looked at Angel with pained eyes. "I'm so... So sorry, boy..."

"Don't say sorry to me!" Angel said shocked. "It was 'Thello you were shaking!"

This only seemed to cause J more grief. He turned away, shaking.

* * *

Kaard was running. Where he was was unimportant. When, how, what, none of those things mattered. He just knew that to stop running was to be destroyed. Why?

The answer roared roared ferociously behind him. What, where, when, and how that was didn't matter either. The two were each struggling to maintain their existences. This is the natural way. This is the way of Beasts. The rawest, purest of conflicts. Nothing else matters, Nothing else ever mattered. That's why everything else is a game. It was astonishing that he'd forgotten that. Before he joined with mortals, this was partly what thrilled him. Of course, fleeing from a predator was Nowhere as exciting as taking one down!

He dug his heels and spun. His jaw dropped and a roar issued that not not only surprised him, but brought the thundering mass of muscles, claws and teeth to a skittering halt. The look of confusion and shock in the creature's eight eyes was nothing short of tantalizing. Kaard leapt onto the beast's face and clung to whiskers with clawed fingers that he'd never had before, yet the action was as easy and instinctive as if he had done this a million times. He was careful to have one foot resting on the creature's lower lip.

As he knew it would, the creature found its ferocity and opened its mouth to roar back. Kaard's lower half dropped over its gaping maw. It was big enough to bite him in two if he wasn't careful. He wedged each of his feet between teeth as long as his forearm and one arm to do the same with the upper jaw, becoming a living wedge.

The beast panted torrents of hot breath than slammed him with the stink of rotting meat and less pleasant things. Kaard bit into his free hand, calling on the energies he'd collected in himself, the ones that now saturated his blood. He allowed both to bubble to the surface.

In the moments that Kaard had to take to bleed, the beast gave a frustrated roar, that blew all around him like stepping into a crematorium. He almost lost his grip. If he was blasted out, he was finished. That couldn't happen. Someone was waiting for his return.

The beast attempted to use its tongue to push him out. That was the moment Kaard had been waiting for. He pressed the bloody palm to that slimy, stinking hunk of flesh and watched as his energies began to supercede his opponent's. The creature's body seized up and went flopped heavily to the floor. Kaard rolled out of the beast's mouth and stretched cramped muscles. Then he raised a paw and snapped his fingers, sending out a signal. His kin rose from the shadows. Why Kaard knew these creatures as kin was simply because he had proclaimed it so, and they were unable to refuse. They streaked through the air around him like peacock feathers attached to dragonfly wings, each ending in a single eye-spot. They circled in lazy orbits around him as he walk to the fallen creature's side.

He pointed to one of the monster's eight legs and the dozen or so of his kin all swarmed the joint connecting the limb to the socket. The beast began to cry out in agony. The squeal only served to whet Kaard's appetite. Blood spurt from the joint as the kin steadily sawed through blood vessels and eventually hitting connective tissues. Then with a delicious ripping sound, the leg fell away. Not a moment too soon; the beast was getting over his hex and was struggling to its remaining feet. The two squared off for a tense moment, staring each other down. It was the creature that blinked first. It began to back away, picking up speed as the distance between the two widened. Then it turned and stomped off through the forest, disappearing quickly. Kaard hefted his prize over his shoulders like a yolk and ran. The smell of blood was attracting even bigger predators...

He began eating on the fly, ripping segments of furry exoskeleton open to devour the bloody meat inside. Doing so slowed him, but he couldn't carry both his share as well as his family's so he ate his on the way home. Of the three segments, he ate two. The last and tenderest would be for his mates. He came soon, to the stone tower. Standing proud and strong, the phalic-looking monument was covered in vein-like vines. He had to reach the top. That's where his clan awaited him. He held the last segment in his teeth and launched himself at the tower. He gripped the vines and was rewarded by a thousand needle thorns piercing his skin. He ate the pain and continued to climb. Adrenaline battled exhaustion as he worked his ay up. Sweat watered the vines below as it soaked his body. His entire body hurt, but there was a need to be fulfilled, and that can only happen at the top.

He climbed, finally hauling himself up over the ledge. He took a moment to rest, but his gaze instinctively scanned his new surroundings. Though he didn't dwell on anything he saw, he'd later remember that the top of the tower dipped into itself like a bowl. Its interior was lined with hundreds of tiny perches and ledges. In the center, though, it evened out. It might have looked an arena, if not for a gigantic altar in the center. Above the the altar, looming like a glorious headboard, was a stone dais, upon which sat a stone book. It had been scribbled on and marked. Scratches, scored it. Blood stained it. Hand-prints marked it. These were names. Billions of them. Even thought the book seemed to be one slab, he knew that there were other names between its impossible pages.

He surged forward, flowing, a tide of muscle, sensuality and instinct, towards the altar. He rolled, tumbled, fell, and caught footing, until he landed on the floor with such jarring finality that he had to reorient himself to being on flat steady ground. He looked back to the altar, where his harem awaited. These were creatures of all shapes, but all were bigger than he was. That was why he selected them; they were to big to eat. In turn, they had not eaten him because he carried in him something far better than food. They watched him warily, tensing at his approach. When he tossed the hunk of meat at them, they dove on it in a frenzy. A few mouthfuls for each was enough to satisfy them. Once there was nothing left of the segment, they began to back away from him with bowed heads. As they spread out, he began his selection.... There! The old one with gold and silver fur. His predecessor. The one who went on hunts before he could. That would be tonight's mate.

Kaard snarled and broke into a sprint at the creature. The others squealed and scattered. The old one tried to flee as well, but despite his musculature, he was slowed by physical decline. Kaard's kin darted forward and wrapped themselves around his quarry's neck and limbs. They then began reaching for each other, entwining their tails, hog-tying the old one. It all happened in a flash and sent the beast tumbling.

Kaard had to admit that he had an unfair advantage; he was different from them. He had Magic over them. A deeper understanding of what they were.

Hpwever, this did not stop them from fighting him, hunting him, wishing to dominate or destroy him. So he had to take what was his. And that was something he enjoyed immensely. He fell on his mate and the two wrestled. The old one broke the tie, but could not shake the kin, and they weighed him down. Where the old one had strength, Kaard had them. They punched and clawed each other, but they also nipped and kissed. It was a mindless concoction of sex and violence that aroused them both. It was impossible to say when Kaard had crammed his dick into the old one. He just found himself thrusting into the wailing, panting bitch. The old one squeezed hom and sucked at the meat with the fervor of estrus. He clawed the stone under him and whined for more. Kaard pulled out and put the old one on his back and watched its inhuman eyes roll, muscles heave with his thrusts, and saliva drip off wicked fangs and a lolling tongue. He put everything he had into each thrust, grinding hard for depth and pulling back for stimulation. Kaard gripped the old one's pectoral and raked it with his claws, sending rivulets of blood flowing to the altar. The old one shuddered and cried out, his hole milking even harder. The old one reached up and caressed Kaard's cheek with a paw that could have crushed his skull. Finally, with a roar of triumph, Kaard's body clenched and he dropped his load into his mate. He felt the blasts of come splash around him and the old one let out howls of ecstasy.

With every physical need sated, Othello's senses returned to him. He began to ask the questions that seemed so unimportant when this all began.

"Where am I..."

"Your people call this place Pangaea, my Lord. This is the land of your ancestors."

"What am I...?" He examined his body and found that he was covered in white fur over most of his body. His chest was bare, showing brown skin scored with tiny scars. He raised a hand and for the first time saw it as a paw, with fingers almost too stumpy to work as fingers at all. He looked to his feet and saw that they were truly paws, attached to legs that were more feline than human.

"You see yourself in the form you once bore, my Lord."

"How?"

"The time has come, my Lord, for your true self to awaken..."

"Why?"

"I cannot answer that, Lord. Only you might."

He turned to his mate who watched expectantly, awaiting another question. The beast was more human than Othello had bothered to notice. Torso, arms, head, all humanoid, but like Kaard, his mate was distinctly sphinx-like. "What are you?"

"A totem. I took the form that would best mirror yours."

"Why am I here?" Othello glanced at the book.

"To proclaim yourself to the world."

"Mine or yours?"

"All worlds..." His lover leaned up to lick his neck. "Mark the book, Lord."

Othello didn't bother looking for something to write with. He instead thrust fingers into his mate's ass and, as the totem moaned and gasped, dug out some of his own jism. He approached the book with outstretched fingers.

"Lord!" Kaard paused and turned back. "Take them with you..." His his kin rose up, and began lazy orbits around Kaard's body again.

"Why?"

"They are apart of you, Lord, and you do not have all of your power in the Fallen World. They will help you, once they've found vessels."

"Thank you... Good bye, old one."

"Good luck, My Lord..." The totem bowed as Kaard smeared his cum on the book. The kin all clung to Kaard at once, so numerous that they mummified him, blinded him. He heard that book slam shut, adding his name to countless others for eternity. He felt the air grow still. He felt the falling sensation and the soft landing of the hospital bed he landed in.

* * *

Jay was in a bad way. He prayed to whomever would listen for Othello's Awakening. Montague had a lot to answer for. He'd broken Angel in ways that whips and chains couldn't. He'd just sat back in his orange chair when the air suddenly sizzled with power. He turned to the mummified figure on the bed and saw that the streaks of blood making up Othello's and Kaard's names in Atlantean had started to glow.

The body sat up and Jay's nose was suddenly filled with the stink of man-sweat and lust. The bindings stretched as the body underneath swelled into a form that could only be described as sphinx-like. Then they tore and unfurled, revealing Othello's naked, perfectly healed body. The bindings tor and twisted on themselves into gossamer wings and a matching plumed tail, all looking like peacock feathers. His eyes were wider than they should have been and looked like pools of milk or cum, rippling deeply from their center.

The electronic instruments went haywire, spiking to show inhumanly efficient vitals before shorting out. The being that was once Othello raised its arms over its head as everything settled back. Othello was laid back on to the bed with yawn that revealed teeth a little too long. He looked around with eyes the color of the deep jungle and gave his cock a few ginger strokes.

"I'm horny..." He said groggily.