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Authors note :

Parts of this story is very personal to me, and draw from my experiences with facing demons and healing. Though it covers dark topics like rape and suicidal ideation, It also covers the characters way of overcoming them.

In one of the taverns boarding rooms, softly illuminated by moon light from a small snow filled window, two figures lay in a simple bed that was made more from hay then anything else.

Aljistar awoke with a gasp, soaked in sweat, his heart pounding like he had been running all night rather than sleeping.

And it was almost true, the dreams - nightmares more like it - they were exhausting, mentally and physically. In a panic he reached up and felt his neck and was relived to feel his leather collar was still on.

In the nightmares he was always uncollared - unleashing that violent and enraged demon that had been forged inside him.

But his collar was on - he was still in control for now - so he lay back and calmed himself, and tried breathing slowly.

That demon was a part of him that had been created for a wicked purpose, he thought as he lay there. It violently raged and rattled the bars to be in control, to have bloody revenge on the world, and to destroy everything it came across, destroy just like had been done to his now fractured self. That violent-rage-part wanted out at every slight and provocation, ready to extract bloody satisfaction, that was all it knew or did. But it was also both chained to and fueled by the pathetic and wounded part that was once his innocent inner child, so injured by those very same traumas. The broken-innocent-part's weakness and timidness enraged the violent-rage-part, pushing it to be even more depraved, and that hatred and cruelty was further devastating what shreds were left of his innocence. But that hateful part was definitely more powerful then the weaker pathetic one, and it wanted control. Full control. It was that violent part he resolved to keep locked away and under firm control at all costs. At least he was in control of himself…for now.

He slid out of his thoughts and the bed quietly, not just because he didn't want to wake the bedmate sleeping next to him, but because he was always quiet. Also of habit: his equipment was already packed ready to go, setting in a neat way next to the side of the bed. His clothes resting on top of his pack, stacked in the order he would put them on for a quick and quiet start of the day, even in the pre dawn darkness of the room. As he dressed, he already knew the hour.

He could feel it.

It was the 'killing hour'.

Assassins throughout history preferred the killing hour, it was a perfect timing of 'not so early in the night that people were still awake and moving about', and 'not to late in the morning that someone early to rise may interrupt the dark-deed', but rather just late enough that the assassin could still slip out of town in the morning hustle and bustle before his kill was found.

He left a few coins as gratitude for a good night, placing them next to his bedfellow's belongings before leaving the room quietly.

He slipped out of the inn unnoticed by the staff, as they cleaned from last night and cooked for the morning.

Were you, the good reader, to be a fly on that inn wall watching, you would likely chuckle to watch such a huge and imposing white pelted bull-man walking so calmly and casually out the door without a single person in the building noticing him. Let me describe the absurdity:

Stepping out of the shared room, and now standing on the upper balcony looking down over the main open room of the inn below, he observed for a second, then just… walked down the stairs. Just as the bar-maid went to move her bucket of water from the lower landing to the tile floor near a table, He passed right behind her and stayed effortlessly out of her line of sight without any extra maneuvering even as she turned back to get her scrub brush. The bar-keep was bringing more firewood in the door and had left it open to bring the first arm-full in, but then stepped out again to get a second. As the 'keep walked in the door he turned to face the wood storage pit to his right and drop the split wood, just as Aljistar quietly walked out the door, right behind the occupied barkeep's back. As if it was meant to be, right after his silent and unseen exit the barkeep turned back around and closed the door, none the wiser of the hulking bulls presence or exit.

Outside of the village, Aljistar walked the snowy trail that wound through the forested foothills just before the sun rose, a slight and growing glow on the horizon lighting his path. After some hours in the quiet of the winter woods, He felt it starting again. His right hand felt hot and tingling. The veins in his temples throbbing, and his heart pounding. His ears filled with the sound of blood rushing.

He knew it was calling him. He reached under his cloak, and hesitantly placed his hand on the grip of his dagger. Immediately its cool and calming touch ended the symptoms.

It seemed like the blade always made sure to remind him of its presence if he ignored it too long. He found that until he grasps the blade again, it just gets worse and worse. It was like it was the part of him that was created in that warehouse at the eleventh bell, then forged in the dark cells of the shadow-clan were not to be ignored, they would not just fade away. It was reminding him that part of him was still there, still immersed in that world, still chained. It also reminded him of that part of him that was angry, that wanted revenge, blood. The part that loved the kill, that loved the freedom and power that he felt when he was unshackled and given his dagger. The feeling of invincibility he got from roaring as the blade hilted, that power, to make others suffer like he had been made to…the...

Aljistar snapped to his senses, the blade was in his hand, his pack was gone, his free hand he reached for his neck and felt the collar was gone…panicking he turned around, his pack was in the snow, by the trail several hundred feet away.

He stood, looking at the blackened steel dagger in his hand, his heart was pounding and he was shaking.

It was like he had lost control… again.

The last thing he remembered was walking the trail.

He willed himself to drop the blade, but his inner demons wouldn't let him. Instead he sheathed it.

They had won this time.

He walked back to the trail and his bag, and retrieved it. He saw the simple leather collar he had made from an old belt, laying on the snow near by. Quickly snatching it up he put it around his neck, buckling it and he immediately felt relief as he did, sliding it around so the metal buckle was behind his neck.

As he started to walk the trail again he turned to the thing he didn't want to acknowledge.This was the second time he had…lost control.

It scared him, because he knew exactly what he was capable of, after all he still had nightmares about it every night.

What if it were to happen while he was at a village? What if he… acted on the rage?

Before when he was unleashed, there was just that… a leash. Cages, collars, chains, training and beatings and all the controls that contained the dangerous thing that had been created inside him. Now all that had contained it was gone… he only had his stupid collar and some semblance of will power and childish rules, He thought as his fingers touched the worn leather, unaware that he already possessed the most powerful check of his demon.

What if it gets worse?

He continued walking down the trail. He just wanted to live a normal life. He snorted, Well, as normal as something like him could be.

~ ~ ~

After a long day of silent traveling while pondering, the trail he was on came to an end. It sort of faded in to a snow covered opening in the hilly conifer forest.

“Ehh." He grunted in his deep bass voice, his breath forming a big cloud of condensation in the cold air as he was looking around.

There was no obvious continuation of the trail, it was supposed to have lead to a woodland village where he could stay a night before continuing on to a coastal town the next day. This …this was definitely woodland, but that was it. He didn't remember seeing any forks in the trail. The afternoon was fading so he decided to both look for firewood and signs of the trail continuing at the same time. Setting his pack down he walked around the perimeter of the snowy clearing picking up any dry-ish wood and stacking it in several small piles as he went. Circling the edge of the clearing he learned three things.

One: that the trail indeed ended at this clearing.

Two: that a storm was going to sweep through this valley very soon and light was fading fast. And three: it wasn't so much of a clearing, but rather the entrance to a cave. Hidden to the right side was a cave entrance masked by scrub brush and trees. The cave had a timber wall and with a solid but rough hewn wood door across the entrance.

He gripped his blade approached the door. It looked abandoned, the door was ajar and debris had built up around it. There were no signs of life, but he was still cautious. Careful of traps he opened the door and entered. His minosian eyes allowed him to see well in the dark, and he entered silently, but boldly. The room inside was empty and abandoned. A old fire pit filled with ash and some broken rough wood furniture were the only things. There was a far wall of dry stacked stone with another door, this time of iron bars. This was starting to look like an abandoned mine. He checked the iron bar door, and it was locked, an old rusty lock - on this side, and with no signs of recent use.

Aljistar sheathed his blade again, and went back out and grabbed his pack, and started to bring his bundles of wood in to the cave. The wind had picked up, and a downpour started. He hurried to bring in his pack and enough wood to start a fire before it all got wet. so once all was in he closed the door and latched it, at least his pack was dry, but Damn, he was soaked through to pelt.

From his pocket he pulled a small wrapped up ball of string. Pulling a lose string unwrapped the ball producing a tiny bell, with more string filled the inside of the bell silencing it. He looped the string around the door latch of the wooden outer door and hooked it to a rusty nail in the wall. He carefully set it so there was just enough slack in the string that it wouldn't ring the bell if the door rattled in the wind, but if the latch were to be moved enough to allow the door to be opened it would. Once set, he removed the last bit of silencing string, activating his alert.

Now he worked on a fire in the fire pit. Taking a little leather bundle from his pack he untied it, and rolled out a small survival kit. It had many useful items like needle, fish hook, flints, tinder, a few tiny wax paper sachets of useful powdered substances, a glass vial of oil, a candle, and similar other assorted but versatile items. Selecting the flint and steel and a tiny bit of fluffy tinder, he started a fire. As the fire slowly grew he wrapped his kit up and stowed it back in to his bag.

After placing more small sticks on the fire he undressed to pelt other then his collar. His clothes would need to dry, and so would he. He fastened his leather knife belt back around his waist, naked didn't mean unarmed he thought as he adjusted the blade in its scabbard.

Placing a bigger log on the fire he then turned his attention towards the iron bar gate.

A quick examination of it showed it to be robust and simple. The lock was of middling quality. He didn't hesitate to pull his dagger out and use the right edge of the blade just above the blade's guard to get under the head of the big iron spike holding the hinge to the stone wall, and rotate firmly outward, popping the spike out. He often used that one spot on the blade for prying to avoid damage to the rest of the blade. He did the same for the other two hinges, and grasping the door, he gently lay it down silently, hinges and all. It had taken him less than one minute to remove the gate. He remembered watching a thief waste 15 minutes trying to pick a similar lock and chuckled at the thought.

From his pack, he took out a flat sheet of tin, and opened it, unfolding in to a tiny lantern with one little rectangle glass window. Taking a candle from his pack, he lit it with the fire and dropped it in to the lantern, closing the top. Checking around the entryway for traps he slowly entered the abandoned mine. Rough timber trusses held up stacked stone all around. The shimmed timber supports keeping the ceiling up were older, the mine was probably abandoned decades ago.

Being naked didn't stop Aljistar as he explored cautiously, not expecting to find anything, but curious what was beyond the gate. After finding a few tunnels and one dead end he entered a large long gallery propped up with wooden posts, beams, and stacked stone retaining walls, all holding back the mountain above. Many different tunnels and chambers split in every direction, and deep black shafts bored in the depths were all around. Kicking a small stone in to one it was fourteen seconds before he heard a faint clatter below.

This mine was so far from anything, and so forgotten. Forgotten like he wanted to forget his past, his … actions. What if he were to, say… jump? Throw himself down one of the mine shafts? All the pain he felt, all the memories he wanted to forget, they would all just… disappear down that black void, swallowed by nothingness. It would be like forever sleep. He wanted sleep so bad. One night without the memories or nightmares…

He stood before one such shaft, thinking about it.

“If I take one step, it all goes away." He mused aloud in his rarely heard but gravelly bass voice. Extending his arm holding out the little lantern, looking down in to the dark pit before him. He released the lantern and watched the light shrink in to the dark depths, a tiny spark of light, of life, held in that lantern. It was swallowed by the darkness, then with a clank there was one last spark of light at the bottom of the shaft, then nothing.

A fitting metaphor for his life he thought, as he stood looking down in the void. Perhaps his next step could be that last spark?

As he looked down a chill crossed him and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood… he looked around, as his hand started to tingle, and he started reaching for his blade. He wasn't alone.

“You can never escape me Aljistar." his handlers voice boomed confidently from somewhere behind him.

Aljistar pulled the blade and spun towards the voice, He preferred relying on his natural dark vision to fight, so this was an ideal setting. His heart thundered, and his mind blanked, instincts and training had him focusing on finding a target for his blade.

“Just like you, that blade is mine. You nor it can hurt me." The smug voice said slowly from off to his left, as he spun towards it, and charged, finding nothing.

“I trained you, I know everything about you… don't think that you can fight me, because you can't." His handler said, now from behind him again.

Spinning around and charging Aljistar still found only blank stone walls.

Suddenly from above and to his right the voice continued in a mocking tone: “You are powerless against me."

And instantly from just behind him “Powerless… just like the first time I fucked you." He felt the breath on his neck.

Aljistar leaned forward and kicked his hoof behind him, but did not connect, he transitioned the back-kick into a spin and thrust the dagger, but found only cold dead air.

There was no one here… he was… not physically here, but.. from within him?

“Get out of my head!" Aljistar roared in the dark deep.

“Just like our little private 'training sessions', I can be inside you as much as I want." The voice cruelly mocked his repeated ravagings of Aljistar.

Aljistar shivered, he felt a hand brush across his pelt on his bare butt, even though there was no one there, he swung around thrusting and slashing the dagger wildly.

Aljistar recentered “You don't own me!" He said measuredly, looking for a direction or way to attack his spectral foe.

“Is that so? Then why do you still wear a collar?" The voice said, verbally pressing a finger into the open wound it represented.

“Its for me, not you!" Aljistar roared, “You can't control me anymore!" He spun about shouting in rage, loosing his cool.

“Oh, my dear little Aljistar… I can, and I do." The voice said in a mockery of sad regret. "You see, I know someone who does control you-" Then in a loud and commanding tone continued: “Number one three seven, return weapon."

137 stopped, stood at ready, then quickly and quietly placed the dagger in its sheath and stayed stone still with his hands by his sides, his eyes unfocused, and his breathing slowed.

Inside, Aljistar's soul fumed with rage, his body and mind had obeyed, just like he had been broken and trained to do.

“One three seven, kneel." The evil voice sounded gleefully as it filled the cavern.

The naked white bull dropped to his knees.

“Good boy. See Aljistar? I do control you. I always will." There was almost a laugh at the end.

Aljistar couldn't move his body though he willed it, he found he could reply with enough rage.

“I will… kill you." He managed to say through clenched teeth, despite his submissive part's firm control of his body.

“No." The command was curt and flat, but hit him like an avalanche.

Aljistar instantly slumped forward, unconscious, and landed face down in the loose stones and dirt.

~ ~ ~

Aljistar dreamed, remembering being restrained face down on a table made from old iron tubes and wooden beams, nude except for the iron collar and cuffs. Worn leather straps held him bent over the frame, his handler standing between his spread legs, rapeing him repeatedly while the iron and leather kept him powerless to resist.

~ ~ ~

Awakening naked on the loose pebbly floor of the cold abandoned mine, Aljistar sat up and reached for his blade. It was of course, right there where his hand first reached the ground.

“Theres no way your still alive." The white bull grunted from the ground. “They killed you when the operation was liquidated." He said to the darkness as he sat up. And wiped a pebble from his snout.

There was no reply.

He stood and got his bearings in the mine, and headed back to the entry.

He was shivering, The fire was embers, and he placed more wood on it and stoked it. Moon light glistened off the snow outside, and through the gaps in the wooden palisade. His bell was still in place on the door, untouched.

After warming by the fire he thought more of what happened as he unrolled a heavy blanket from his pack, it was a thick waterproof canvas made from old ship sail that had been waxed and oiled on the outside, with a warm thick inner padding sewn in.

Folding it in half and laying it on the ground, then slipped into his blanket and lay on his side, head tilted due to his horns and partly resting on his hand.

“Your just a broken and fragmented memory." He said aloud. And falling in to In a dreamlike state as he watched the fire dance, he rested.

“You are whatever I remember you as." he said softly.

He wasn't alone, sliding under the blanket with him, behind the white bull was his handler, nude.

The black bull behind him caressed his pelt. “This is what you wanted isn't it?" The cruelty was gone.

Aljistar couldn't reply.

“Its ok 137, you can tell me" His handler cooed.

“Yes, master. Please?" The white bull was in tears as a innocent and injured part of him spoke.

The black bull behind him slid his hands across the white one's pelt, then pressed his tip to the others bottom and entered slowly and gently.

The black bull rolled him over to his stomach, pushing him firmly with his body, and made love to him, in slow, strong, and passionate rhythmic thrusts. 137 and the injured innocent he was built on were overwhelmed, they had never been truly loved before.

Tears flowed, the white bull sobbed as the black bull gently held him close and made love to him. Soft moans filled the room.

~ ~ ~

Aljistar came to awareness, looking about the dim cavern, the fire was low again. It was cold but the blanket provided warmth. His spirt was tender after the dream of his handler…it was all he wanted- and all that he hated. His handler had been the bull that he had looked up to as a child, who he wanted to be proud of him, who he wanted to love him, To be kind to him. But it was so confusing too, because his handler was also the bull who raped him, beat him. Broke his innocence, and stole his life. The bull he hated most.

He lay for a while as different feelings ebbed and flowed. It was difficult to love and hate one bull so much.

After some time he got up and put some pieces of wood on the fire, stoking it.

“You are pathetic." the deep and sinister voice returned. “Begging me to fuck you. Disgusting."

“And you are not real. Your just a fading echo." He said curtly, annoyed at his return.

There was no reply.

Aljistar pulled on his cloak, as the rest of his clothes were still damp. He was hungry so he started to prepared some hardtack and pemican in a small iron camp pot. He needed a way to hold the camp pot over the fire and decided to whittle some sticks in to a sort of tripod to hold the pot. He pulled his blade to start carving the first stick, and thats when he felt it.

The ice cold of the blade, and the malice pouring from it. He dropped it right away.

“I trained you better then that, pick up your blade Aljistar." The voice insisted.

“You… you are … part of the blade?" Aljistar reasoned aloud trying to understand.

“Its just a fucking knife, stop trying to think and start obeying." The black bovine apparition slowly forming behind him growled in annoyance.

“But your just a memory… but somehow...the blade… it …it empowers you." Aljistar stood looking stunned at the realization.

“Don't be a fool! Now pick up the blade one-thirty-seven." The last was a command from the forming ghostly black bull now standing behind him.

When he didn't move, and just looked at the black dagger laying on the floor, his handler became truly angry.

“Number one three seven, kneel!" The booming voice echoed in 137's mind and the cavern, causing the fire to flicker.

137 dropped to his knees, shaking, his hand tingling, poised over the blade, but Aljistar resisted.

“Number one three seven, Pick. Up. The blade." The command was flat.

137 reached out and touched the blade, instantly the uncomfortable tingling sensation left his hand, replaced by cold steel and a numb mind.

Aljistar had feelings… but 137 didn't have to have any feelings …

137 didn't have to feel anything or think anything. Maybe it was better to just be 137… but 137 needed his handler, but Aljistar didn't like 137's handler.

137 didn't know what to do, and froze. He wasn't supposed to think, just obey.

But Aljistar did know what to do, and he seized on the weakness of 137s confusion and quickly sheathed the blade, and ripped the belt from his waist as he stood.

“No. You don't control me." He stated boldly. Ripping his cloak off his back he wrapped the scabbard in it so he wouldn't need to touch it. Entering the mine again with determination and purpose he headed deep inside, the whole while the apparition of his handler stood scowling at Aljistar around every corner and from every shadow.

Once deep on the mine, Aljistar found a large solid stone block, were he dropped the bundled blade, it almost looked like it was sitting on an alter to be sacrificed.

“You don't know what your doing fool!" The apparition spouted angrily.

“We - We, don't know what we are doing. You are just a fragment of memory. My memory. And if I bury and forget that memory…."

His handler's apparition was enraged at the notion. “One three seven, pick up that blade! Now!" It roared with a monstrous demonic sounding voice at an unnatural volume, echoing the cavern.

“One three seven, please knock down the pillars supporting this room." Aljistar ordered himself calmly.

The white bull hesitated, but then guided firmly but kindly by Aljistar, he stepped over to the nearest wooden pillar holding up the beams that supported the tunnels ceiling. Pressing against it hard, he pushed it out of its wedges and the timber brace fell to the ground, accompanied with a groaning sound from the beams in the rest of the chamber, and lots of small stones falling.

The black bull stopped, hands waving downward in a calming motion: “Aljistar, we don't need to do this, we can come to some agreement… we can share 137…"

“I… I am one three seven," the white bull replied timidly in a softer tone.

The apparition changed track and tone.

“137, I … I care about you. I … L-love you. But we can't be together with Aljistar in the way, he's trying to stop us from being together." The dark apparition said softly, even as he struggled to say the four-letter-word, almost choking on it.

“I Am Aljistar" the white bull now growled.

“-YOU CAN'T DESTROY ME!" The apparition howled in a sudden rage when he didn't get his way.

“I don't have to, I can just …leave." The white bull spoke calmly as he walked to the next column, and pushed hard on it. It slowly pushed free from its shims and clattered down to the floor. The timber and loose stones it had held up tumbled down, covering the blade. Other timbers around the gallery creaked and splintered under the increasing load. Knocking sounds filled and echoed the mine, tons of stone shifted and groaned ominously all around, it would all collapse soon.

“One three seven, lets go." Aljistar said resolutely. Then in a softer tone “G-good bye, master." One-three-seven managed to said sadly. The white bull turned his back to the now silent and slightly faded apparition of an angry black bull, clad in dark leather armor, standing next to the buried blade, he looked just like he did the day they first met decades ago when Aljistar was still a calf. With help from Aljistar, One-three-seven turned and walked away from him, heading up back toward the entrance.

~ ~ ~

At the entrance of the mine, dawn had just broke. Aljistar re-dressed in his clothes now that they were dry, and as daylight streamed through the gaps in the wooden palisade, he packed his gear.

Before leaving He took a large strong stick and pried stones from the loose dry-stack stone wall that lead into the mine. He started strategically removing enough to destabilize it so that with a few final pushes and prying, it all collapsed, burying and hiding the entrance under tons of stone.

Sling his pack, he left, heading back down the old trail, hopefully this time towards the coast.

--

'A Mysterious Discovery' is the followup to this: [https://www.sofurry.com/view/2135446

](https://www.sofurry.com/view/2135446)

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