Competition Cheer Noisemakers

[Original]

Title: The Weaver of Shadows
Fandom: Original
Author: body-ko
Rating: R
Word Count: 11,787
Summary: Unfortunately I was a bit 'the victim of circumstances, you must understand that I really had to deal with terrible creatures, and the mere fact of having kept the sanity is a real impertinence on my part.
Written by: F3.UCKS Fest of fanfic_italia


Notes: this tale inspired by the book "The infernal desire machines of Dr Hoffman ; A. Carter.



Chapter Five
Now that the world was over, I found myself completely incapable of dolermene. I was numb with shock, but even more to my total indifference. I tried to trace the man inside me and I found that I had been more than a stele of hard granite, polished and hard, and painful in his deadpan delivery to loneliness. My father was dead and I did not feel pain, but in the end was not really my father and I had never loved. Few would take me seriously because the more it is incomprehensible that a child might not love his father, but the truth was that I my just tolerate it: it was not a person that I could assess or meet. He showed me the way, and it was always the wrong way, it was my responsibility to have it taken, of course he could not force me and he never did, but I had the full right and title - and all fucking reasons - to feel it a bad teacher.

walked for days to reach a converted church where I found refuge. The old gods were left to rot and no one had bothered to save them, prim-looking Madonnas were devoured by moss that had crept in that place through the roof, which collapsed arch West. The forest loomed, however, had not yet won, and in a ravine, the building still retained an aura of his holiness lost, there was allocated a statue created by a Florentine master, portrayed Santa Chiara, and shone in the purity of its marble . I watched the light that flows from it and from which the forest is far away: all around the statue just peace and quiet, while the rest was destroyed. I was sleeping when they arrived I woke up, had a noble with his valet, traveling a long time. When I palesai the old count drew his sword and then, seeing that I was not dangerous, the sheathed.
"I thought I was the snake of Eden, but you're just a little priest country, "he said. I smiled out of pure indulgence. He wore a black cape with many layers of coats and a hat from which hung a black crepe veils. He seemed ready for a funeral service and challenged a stick topped with a silver apple from the air lethal. It was high and its thinness made it seem even more inhuman than did the flashy dandyism itself.
was one thing Slovak, traveled to the capital to attend the wedding of the Regent. He spoke highly of him, I have never met anyone who would use in a sentence many times the word "I": I found it boring beyond belief, albeit with a certain charm that once would have hit me, but now that I had seen the end of the world, I found nothing of interest. He asked me if I had seen the disaster, and how many people had died.
"You must know, young man, I'm a connoisseur of catastrophe. I witnessed the eruption of Vesuvius, when thousands of people were buried alive in lava. I saw her eyes burst and pour the grease crackling dall'arrosto Nagasaki, Hiroshima and Dresden. I dipped my fingers in the blood under the age of Terror guillotine. I'm crazy for natural catastrophes. " He told me everything
this as a gauntlet, but I do not understand. He denied the world, denying God, we believe that the only living creature with any relevance was him, was the most egotistical man I had ever known.

The old count said through his monocle the poor church that offered both a refuge from the dangers of the night, kicked the statue of Santa Chiara and piss on the altar, so immersed in its very essence can not do less than what was already showing the offending side, so tied to the ancient symbols that they can not resist the need for desecration.
"You know, my friend," he said looking at me as if I were an insect, which was then the way they looked at all, "you have before my eyes a man on the run. He who gives me the hunt is my nemesis, my enemy, the only person in the world that I respect myself worthy opponent. His name does not count, he has made many during his long life, as I did. The first time I met him, centuries ago, was the protector of a caravan of whores at Nantes. Just as evil and ruthless, his whores loved him with the same intensity with cu feared him and there was one, his favorite, had planned to sell it as a mistress of a noble and offered to sell it to me. I told him I did not buy any goods without being sure of its proper operation and he agreed with me. I had the girl on probation for one night. "
"What happened?" I asked bleak.
Count put on theatrical expression of grief: "I passed the test. More often, the hothouse flowers are very delicate, so I always preferred the wild roses that cultivated: they give much more satisfaction and have the undoubted advantage of lasting longer. "
I thought that the Earl deserved to die, for all the flowers he had picked and trampled for the sake of doing so, I tried not to show my face from the contempt I had for that person because, even Campania thousand years, I could compare with him, hoping to beat him. His will too strong and too ruthless to his madness, and certainly too sharp knife which he kept hidden in his walking stick.
"Since then, the evil black man pursues me longing for his stupidity to feed my blood to increase his power by stealing mine. It 's a powerful man, violent, and the will indomitable and his mind is great, my brother lost ... sometimes I think that final meeting with him, is perhaps the only thing that could ... "he hesitated, searching for the appropriate word, which was unusual in him, always had a myriad of words on the tip of your tongue ready for a bow like blood from an open wound, "... the only thing that would surprise me," he concluded.
I thought it was a tragedy not just his own: the count could not feel surprised at all, and a man incapable of surprise might as well be stillborn, because his eyes were never open *. The footman had meanwhile

unit in the old church, there was a can of pate de foie gras, truffled terrine of game in gelatin, a large amount of cold roast pheasant, cheese whose flavor flavorful foreign pinched nostrils , a slice of smoked salmon from which the valet cut thin strips, an exotic pebbles of assorted caviar, a salad and another container full of grapes and peaches, and a portable cooler containing a dozen bottles of French wine. There were pottery and glassware of the highest quality. The cutlery was of solid silver.
Count ate with great appetite; Indeed, a blind greed that demolished the food so fast that the valet and I durammo hard to grasp how to satisfy. When there was nothing that gnawed bones, dirty dishes, empty bottles and peach pits, Count sighed, belched and grabbed the valet. His hat rolled on the ground.
"Look at me! Look at me! "He shouted as if, in order to appreciate the effect of his own actions, should have known to be seen. But in the ruined church was too dark to see anything close. I heard the grunts and groans of the valet and amazing roars that accompanied progress of the long count towards orgasm. All the while shouting terrible and atrocious curses came from the throat of the count, as a stallion snorted, cursed the womb that had received him, until the orgasm is not reached him as an attack epilissia. Ecstasy seemed to cancel the libertine and there was a silence broken only by the pathetic whining until the valet, velvety darkness and light, the count did not speak in a voice drained of all force.
"I wish that God exists," he said, "so he can say the supreme blasphemy, the supreme denial, but because God there can not exist even the supreme negation, pure evil. This is very unsatisfying for me, "he concluded sadly," all my talents, all my power, are so inadequate at this stage a world so small. "
"This will be your last performance, count," thundered a voice from the stage and then, an immense figure, a tall man as much as the count, but the muscular body like a predator of the forest, the beast by the sharp knife, climbed on stage with a jump. He wore a pair of black leather pants and a sleeveless shirt open to the hairless chest and powerful, masculine traits in the face by the light dark eyes stood out, blacks holes devouring every light in their consecration to destruction.
The count tried to escape the sharp sickle, the attendant yelled terrified and huddled in a corner like a scared mouse, I - decided that the beast was not what I was looking for my blood - I am meticulous care of stay out of his line of fire. The count jumped like a grasshopper from one direction to another, in the whirlwind of the escape of his death did not spare his unquenchable energy, but the beast was as strong as him, and equally determined. At the end had to surrender and, in the blink of an eye, the sharp scythe sheared clean off the thin neck and his head rolled to the feet of St. Clare, patron saint of those condemned to death.
The fury of the beast died suddenly, his mission was completed, the purpose that had illuminated his path throughout its existence was finally reached. He looked at me with his huge eyes, "my life is over now," he said.
"But then, why did you do that?" I asked naively.
"Why I did? "he repeated, smiling sweetly," if you knew the classics, I'd know. I could not hit him with my stinger, even if it means death for me. Why kill the Count's my nature. "
patted me on the cheek and walked away, the camera follows the sad tragic hero away to the tune of an old ballad, and began to scroll through the credits. * Albert Einstein




Chapter six
continued my journey to the castle and found myself immersed in vegetation. The forest did not exist until shortly before, was the shadow of Lucien, it surrounds and protects the castle. The place was rotten and unhealthy, the trees rose in the air have stunted and leafless branches, the sun never touched the ground was covered with a smelly and sticky mud. I soon realized, at my expense, that the plants that grew in that area were carnivorous and damn, when I had stabbed a shrub clinging arm, it groaned beast that terrified me. The lament spread deep into the woods and they said it many others, until the air was vibrating with a haunting dirge and threatening: I thought that I would never come out alive, especially if I kept hitting those damn plants that were all connected to each other. Rinfoderai my weapon, and continued to immerse myself in the green, being careful not to touch the trees.

I do not know how many days in the green and walked in the mud, eating few fruits and berries, which, miraculously, I was not killed. I was near a pond when from behind a wall of ivy and willow branches came out a huge creature, at least three meters high, the upper body had vaguely human appearance, two arms, a head, beard and hair on the face dark. The bottom part was that of a horse, muscular, powerful. On the first rider was followed by a second and third: I soon found myself surrounded and not even thought of putting his hand on my knife, because what could I do with the toothpick against superhuman creatures? I watched, fascinated and terrified together, the first of the Centaurs, Cerberus, his eyes were blacks, without pupils, the sharp teeth of a predator, pointed ears and long thick hair and thick. The upper half of his body was covered with tattoos blacks, and the bottom dominated a very male attribute that belonged to a horse. Faced with the puissance of their half beast, I thought I would end walked out of their sockets, and with those powerful legs would have been enough to break a single stroke of the net the spine, and set aside in a moment of my being. They had no reason not to kill me, I was an alien, different from them, ugly, and probably contagious: I felt very miserable.
"Welcome, my lord," said the king of the centaurs bowing in front of me, "it's been a long time since you came to visit my people." I
stirai lips into a fake smile like a smash, and I thought for those people's rights should be a bit 'all the same, a bit' as a white man are the blacks or Asians. The implicit racism of a single community Racial I had never made so happy.
"I'm visiting," trying to reduce the rest tremor of the voice, "I must get to the castle as soon as possible."
"I hope not so fast as not to allow me and all my people to pay homage," he said, his face expressionless and completely dominated by the will and confidence completely inhuman. I did not dare deny me, his will was too strong and all that he was above me. I agreed, one of his soldiers made me sit back and we rode together to the land of the centaurs. They lived in stables
proportionate the size of their populations, at the beginning I thought that there were no women among the Centaurs and the thing seemed very strange, because I did not understand how they could do to reproduce, then I saw that women were very badly but differed by their male companions, unless you observe them under the tail. They were men of the same size, equally powerful, and beautiful in a savage manner, male, face sculpted in marble and hard eyes of darkness and cold destruction.

I was made to accommodate a building of wood and earth in the middle there was a large table laden with fruits and vegetables of all shapes and sizes, and I sat at the right of the village chief and was served in all their delicacy, made exclusively of vegetable nature as the centaurs did not eat meat. After weeks, perhaps months, of long marches and little food seemed like a meal fit for a king. I asked the village head if the fruits grow in the forest, because in my long pilgrimage I had not seen, only a few berries and dried-apple buggy I was nurtured in my trip, and he told me that they grew them in the fields, far away trees destroyed by the evil that their fruit rather than let others enjoy them. I am not surprised to hear that story, because I already knew that the forest was evil and mean, that would make me of evil if he could, and so would any other living creature except himself. I ate as if it were my last meal, enjoying each bite and savoring every taste and flavor, because life is short. My perhaps more than other. Then the village head and beckoned me to follow him, accompanied at a respectful distance by a group of the most powerful warriors, I was brought into the home of what turns out to be the master tattoo artist. They considered a great honor what I did, they gave me the tattoo that each had won at the cost of great trials and hardships overwhelming: the mark of the great horse god, what every rider took effect on muscular back. The cavern was filled with tattoo of gouges and chisels, a massive wooden table was the center of the room and I could not help but go with the memory to the acrobats of desire, as I had destroyed and forced to beg and cry and call your mom. It would happen again, I was about to be skinned alive by larger creatures twice a man, that would have affected my flesh, blood and pain. And this time I would not be forced to do it, I would have done voluntarily, simply because the fight against fate had brought me to the brink of insanity, and thousands of people died, and if they accept the other hand, perhaps the world would end.
One of the centaurs
wiped the table with a cloth, and arranged a cushion of straw at one end, where I rested my head, and offered as a sacrificial victim on the altar of the god on horseback. The three sons of the master is lined up, singing with a scalpel, another with the color and the third with a bowl of water and a sponge. The Singer, head of the table, began to chant, celebrating the magic of the emblem, explaining how the horse who would take effect on the skin took on the virtues of the horse, while the teacher dipped the brush into your left hand and, taking a chisel or a gouge in the other, depending thickness of the line you want, rub wet brush on the tool and push the dye under the skin. And then the third son wiped the blood with a sponge. Each session lasted one hour. I guadagnai their admiration for my stoicism, not a breath came from my lips while I was being tortured, and for the three weeks that it took the conclusion of the ritual, I was treated like an important person. Losing weight very much, my hair turned white, and my blue eyes change color to become transparent like a blind man. Perhaps the color m'infilavano under the skin was poisonous plant extract from some kind of malevolent forest Lucien, at least I gave blame one of my physical changes. Soon left of me but bones and skin, held together by simple stubbornness. Somehow I survived, and the god was riding on my back with me when I mounted the lord of the Centaurs and galloped toward the center of the forest. I rode on the wings of the wind, as fast as any man could ever be, and I arrived at the gates of the kingdom of the lord of dreams, the conqueror of the world, the threat, the antagonist.
get off the centaur and I crossed the gates of the city walls, which opened up a building of marble and stone, massive proto Doric-style columns on which it held the top of the world. Sitting on the steps of the temple, there was a man with long white hair collected in a queue, who played a song by the Stones. When he looked up, our eyes met, and of course I knew who he was: the author, the slothful, who plots in secret, the puppeteer of us all poor men. Lucien.


Chapter Seven
I approached him walking in bright sunshine, the forest was not only a memory in that desert of sand and rock: the kingdom of Lucien. The man did not seem to notice me, his hands moved as if they had life of its own on the guitar strings, producing a slow and insinuating melody. Not stopped play even when I was a step away from him, I waited until the last day known song would end, without a word.
"You're good," I said when he put down the guitar, he smiled kindly.
"I'm not really cut, in reality," he said, "I had to work hard to achieve a decent level. But then anyone in my family or my knowledge of playing the guitar or any other type of instrument, let's say I'm an anomaly in my race, "he concluded with a flash of irony.
"You have other talents," he remembered.
He looked at me with his eyes, metal, 'E' so, in fact. " He got up and I followed him into the darkness of the temple, endless rows of columns littered our path, between the light of the midday sun and the shadow of the sundial, we walked, the master of the world before me, I'm behind him.
"I am a murderess," he said without looking, without a shadow of remorse or shame, its just a cool finding, "War is my reason for living, the purpose for which I was brought into the world and end that I was trained to pursue. There are other avenues that I could go, even if they wanted ", then looked straight at me," and, anyway, I never wanted to. "
He stopped at a fountain and took a sip of water, then pulled her hair back in a gesture that was to be a habit for him.
"So, you are the assassin that my good friend, the Master at Arms, has sent me," she waded intent, such as assessing what stuff I did.
"Do you think you would succeed?" I asked, not without a glimmer of irony.
"At first glance I would say not, "he smiled almost apologetically," but you are here it and it was not easy. " Continue its journey and I with him, "How did you manage to escape the centaurs?" Dropped with ostentatious indifference.
"The beginner's luck," I answered laconically, and he did not seem to believe, but let it run.
We entered a large room covered with tapestries on the walls that tell a story, all stories: At the beginning I thought it was an optical illusion, then I perceived that these figures woven of gold and silver were moving, were lives. We went to a side room from which came a familiar sound of looms at work and once inside, I saw it. The most horrible and beautiful creature I had ever seen, as revolting as hypnotic: the demon of my dreams. It was, in appearance, more like a centaur to a human being, as the lower part of his body was not equine. Even though he was sitting, I realized that it was very high and his shoulders were those of the thickness of a man, his chest was flat and his hair wild snakes of fire that came to life. Her skin was dark and his features were a mixture of all races and nothing I had ever seen or known, but the dress she wore had the shape of the strange clothes they wore Indian women.
was sitting on the frame, and the product of his incessant weave wire was what I had observed the previous room, the woman was weaving stories that are trapped on the canvas, but became real and walk the earth with the human foot.
"Let me introduce you to my fiancee, Anya," he calmly stroked his hair as he looked pleased with the outcome of the work of the weaver.
"Unfortunately, Anya has no voice is mute since birth," she added glancing amused by my obvious dismay.
'E' so therefore you do ... it's you who does. "
"Anya weaves the dreams of men, is his gift and his talent, and do it to please me, her savior."
looked the creature in the eyes and in those dark eyes did not see any intention or any sign of consciousness. Long fingers, nails like claws, moving headlong speed to weave the threads of dreams. Lucien did not seem to find it necessary to ensure its assets, which was not imprisoned in any way bound by it, if not by his lack of desire to escape.
"Why not escape?" I asked.
"Why should he? And 'the last of his race and there's nothing out there for you: I am all he has. "
I wondered how could he believe his own words, but it's true: he really was sure that nothing and no one could ever stop him, and never thought it would be prudent to keep the creature on a leash. Trasbordante his confidence in himself was his only weakness, Anya's gaze with my crosses and a flash of understanding passed between us.
"What did you intension do with me? "I asked, ready for the worst.
The man looked at me as I replied, pleased too busy canvas of dreams:
"Do not do anything," he said, "you are free to come and go as you like and groped to kill me, if I resolve to do so. You may be very lucky and unlikely to succeed, or win and I'll answer your attack without hesitation, "I looked at her edgy," I do not know the hesitation and doubt I Amadeo and pity remember. " The idea that
Lucien knew the pity I had not even gone to the hall of the brain: the man was a machine.
I left the temple and tried to decide what to do in the rest of my life. I still had the knife of the count, I could use it as a weapon to fight evil. I could give a meaning to my life, finally, in pursuing a goal, could become the man worthy of respect that I always wanted to be and be recognized worldwide as a savior. Barely stifled a laugh, I was not cut out for that stuff, I was not ever been, and if anyone thought that Lucien dies, he could be doing it, because I did not no intention to get my hands dirty with murder.
"Sir," called my attention to one of the palace guards, 'I'm sorry to bother you, what we do with the stranger arrived with centaurs. "
compliant I smiled, "Do not let it get closer to the room of the weaver," I replied, "I have some outstanding issues with the monster and I do not want to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir," replied the man in uniform.
Even though it was sitting on the roof of the world, the great Lucien did not like women. For me, however, shone the light dark of a superhuman love, a woman had given me a terrible and powerful from time immemorial his favor, ignorant of all, even the end of the world. I walked into the room by Anya, we had only a few minutes, I had no idea where he was the scourge of God, but could not be far away. I went, feeling looked up, I closed the door behind him and approached.
"If you want to go, the moment is this."
"I'm ready," his voice, that no human being than I had ever heard, made me fall on my knees and I was bursting with heart and shortness of breath, gave her a look from below above. I realized suddenly what she was huge, to my surprise seemed to amuse her, because now I smiled, grabbed me, thrusting his claws into the flesh, and together they transcend time and space, in flight from death.