#tw; objectification

His stomach twists in disgust as he realizes the true stakes of the situation and now if he moves wrong that hand in his hair will turn into a variable claw in the matter of a few moments. He hates how he can't remember ever laying down like this and quite frankly he can't remember waking up this morning either.

 It's becoming more and more frequent in recent days. He's missing entire chunks of time and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. He's missing chunks of time and he can't remember when was the last time His Excellency killed him. Somehow this seems like more of a bad thing than a good thing for as strange as that sounds. Shouldn't one want to be spared the pain of death? Well yes, and of course he does too but this also means that when the time comes that he inevitably messes up again, when His Excellency makes a move for punishment it will be the most severe one he's received to date. 

He's not stupid. He knows how this game works. Praise and Punishment walk hand in hand with this little beast and right now those same hands are in his hair and he can't move. He can't pull away no matter how much he wants to and he can't even flinch or breathe wrong unless he wants those small but deadly fingers ready to tear snow colored locks right out from his head. 

It's always such a wretched sensation.  

Nothing is worse than the feeling of his hair being pulled. He hates it. He hates the feeling and he hates the way it makes him feel so vulnerable. How the pain of it will bring him to his knees and have him fighting back the tears at the sensation. You would think one who has died as many times as he has would have more pain tolerance for something seemingly so simple but the sensation of even the root of his hair going taunt is enough to send his nervous system into overdrive. 

But what he hates the most is how he can feel himself start purring. He doesn’t know why he does it. He tries to tell himself to stop but he can feel those fingers grow softer as they stroke through snow. The louder he purrs the softer they get and he hates himself for finding so much comfort in the sensation. He hates himself for finding peace in this.  He should be running away from this beast as quickly as his body would carry him. He should be fleeing at any chance he gets but instead he allows himself to sink into his place on the arm of this chair as that little monster continues to comb through fluffy spikes with a gentleness that could only be described as care. 

That can’t be right. 

That’s just not possible, and he hates how many times he feels like he’s had this conversation with himself as of late. The beast does not love him. The demon does not care. The little devil felt nothing for him but yet those lips part and purr out affections of their own. 

“You’ve been so well behaved as of late, Precious.”  The small emperor sounds as his hand continues to work. “You’ve done your tasks so well. I’m proud of you, my Little Cloud. You’ve been such a good pet. Perhaps you deserve some time out of the castle? I think you’ve earned it.” 

He only increases the volume on his purring in response as if doing so will show his gratitude for such a notion but his lips are hanging in a frown behind the thin metal covering his face as the boy of pink continues. 

“You can go with Herba the next she leaves.” The Tyrant offers as he finally pulls his hand away and out of the Misterican’s hair. “But when she leaves you know the rules. Her word is as good as my word and you are to do whatever she asks of you. You understand, don’t you Precious?” 

“Yes, Your Excellency.” 

“That’s my good boy. You’ve become so well behaved. I’m so proud of you, Makenshi.” 

His purring only grows louder as those hands return to his hair and he doesn’t know how long he stays like that but it’s long enough that he doesn’t remember falling asleep.  Did he fall asleep? He doesn’t know. He does know that he woke in his own quarters the next morning and he was met with Herba throwing her arms over his shoulders to bring him into a very tight and very unwanted hug and she leaned to try to push a kiss to his cheek and he could only lean himself the opposite direction so far to avoid contact. 

“Makenshi.”  

His name was trumpeted in his direction in a small but authoritative voice and it has the Misterican standing up straight giving this damnable woman the space she needed to push those poison painted lips directly to his cheek even if it was covered in metal.  Dull jade is looking forward into the main hall with the entirety of his form tingling to both get away from this woman and get off the ground. The place just above the little demon’s head is calling his name because then he is both in eyesight but at the same time away from this gaggle of absolute morons. 

If he could never associate with any of them for the rest of his life ever again, he’s sure he could find a way to be happy. If only Rorahm could finally wake up - but  - jade moons downcast at the thought because at this rate his sun would never rise and he was going to be stuck here for the rest of said life. Should he make the most of it? Should he adjust?  

No. No. Listen to yourself Makenshi. You’re falling for that monster’s tricks! 

But are they tricks? 

It’s been too many years and he doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t remember the sound of his Mother’s voice and he can hardly remember his Father’s face. He tries not to think about them too much because he doesn’t want to get himself all upset and then in turn upset His Excellency. The Tyrant isn’t exactly one to be any form of comforting if he were to simply explain that he was thinking about home. In fact, he doesn’t want that little monster anywhere near  anything to do with Misterica in the first place, so it would probably be for the best to simply forget it all anyway. If he can’t remember then the little beast can manipulate it against him. 

He can’t seem to remember most things lately anyway. 

He can’t remember going to sleep the night before and he hardly can make sense of the morning. He just wants this woman to get off of him but instead she lets herself sink down to wrap her arm around his and lean herself up against him like they were anything that could be considered close - which was comical in his mind when the closest he would like to be to this 

woman would be to watch her burn.  

Still he just adjusts to the feeling of her hanging off his arm as he focuses his attention on His Excellency instead because the only thing he ever needed to do was to keep the little gremlin happy and as long as he did that he’d keep his head. Why was the beast smiling at him the way he was? He doesn’t like it. It’s making his skin crawl almost as much as the feeling of the plant witch hanging off his arm is. 

“Makenshi, I am assigning you to assist Herba today. I expect you two to cooperate while you’re out in the field. Herba knows what needs to be done, so you simply need to follow her lead, and I shouldn’t have to repeat myself with what we discussed yesterday, do I?” 

“No, Your Excellency. I remember.”  He sounds, raising his free arm to cross it over his chest to give this pink haired abomination a half bow. What he was saying he remembers, he doesn’t know. Quite frankly, he doesn’t even even the day before. Yesterday? He couldn’t tell you. Herba’s face was where his memory picks up and he hates that too because there is something about thinking about yesterday that is turning his stomach but he couldn’t tell you why. 

So now they’re returning to that damnable airship and he hates being on it.  It’s nauseating and the amount of pollen in the air is enough to make him sick. His stomach is twisting in knots As he takes a seat. He doesn’t feel well but there is the sound of jingling chimes in the air as he looks over to the open deck just to the right of him. Chimes blowing in the wind and it's enough to tell him to just focus on the sound of something pleasant for once as he lays his head down and tells himself to just go back to sleep.  She’ll wake him when they get there. She always does. 

And he’s sure it’s for something nasty.  It always is.

He won’t do it this time though. He’ll never kill again and he doesn’t care how badly His Excellency beats him to death for disobeying orders. He will not stain the Holy Blade with yet more blood of the innocent… He just needs to not think about it and sleep. He’ll fight with her when he wakes up. His Excellency might be able to get the better of him but Herba won’t. He will never let that woman - 

“ ‘kenshi-darling? ‘Kenshi-darling, wake up you silly willy. If you told me you were tired, I would have gotten you a blanket, lovely.”  She smiles at him with a face that is possibly dripping with more venom than it ever has before. Her smiles are always fake and they turn his stomach, but she is taking him by the hand and he’s letting her.  He doesn’t feel like fighting with her.  

It’s a quiet town they’ve found themselves in this time. It’s closer to the outer reaches of Wonderland but not quite all the way out. A town that has larger than normal buildings built up and a large building he wonders if it is a church of some kind on the other side of town. She has him by the hand as they walk, and the people of this village don’t seem to be paying them any mind.  Children are laughing, the smell of fresh bread is in the air and the city itself seems at peace. 

Herba is leaning herself in to cling to his arm as if they were some sort of couple and it is taking everything in him not to shake her off. She just seems to be happy to take a stroll with him and he doesn’t understand what the catch is. Why did His Excellency let him out of the castle if there was nothing wicked for him to do? Why let him just come take in the sights of Wonderland if they didn’t mean for him to cause some kind of havoc?  

She’s strolling through the local bazaar with him as his nose catches the smell of sugar and it’s been so long since he has got to eat anything truly sweet. He sniffs once and then again and she’s making an Oooh? Sort of sound that he doesn’t like as she takes him by the hand to lead him towards the source of the scent. 

“You like sweets, don’t you, ‘kenshi? I’ll buy you something. I’ll buy you something nice, for how good you’ve been lately. Tell me what you want. Anything and you can have it. We all deserve a little treat every now and then.” 

Is she serious? She can’t be. 

The Church bell is ringing in the background as she pulls him along. A grin slipping on her lips as she pulls him into the middle of the marketplace, only to look back at the Misterican with bright eyes and a poison purple smile. 

“Anything you want, ‘kenshi-darling. Name it, and it’s yours.” She pauses to look towards the church and watches as the streets seem to fill as if the building is emptying further with each chime.  “Must be noon.”  She sounds returning her gaze to her companion only to watch as a pale hand reaches back towards the hilt of his blade to rock it free with a single click.  

“ ‘kenshi-darling?”  She sounds but still just continues to watch the man move. The swordsman takes his blade up into his grip and it is held out towards her at length as if extending the tip in her direction. Mist rolls out from behind bared teeth in plumbs when the devil growls.  He’s pushing off a foot to take off in a dead lunge in her direction but instead of striking at the object of his absolute hatred, the man of white races past her directly towards that of an older man down the way of the lane of the marketplace and cleaves the poor soul clean in two. 

More Mist rolls out from parted pale as his blade is swung to send a flood of white colored energy racing through the stalls like a spark on a wick until it reaches its destination and half the bazaar goes up in a massive explosion.  Screams fill the sky as citizens start to scurry and scatter. 

“The White Devil!!” They cry.  “The White Devil has come for us all!” 

Red stains window panes and runs along the cracks of the cobblestone as the carnage continues.  The man of snow does not cease his hellsent symphony even as men and women alike fall to their knees to beg for their lives. Their lights are snuffed out regardless. Children struck down with little concern and explosion after explosion brings building of stone tumbling to the ground. 

Before long the symphony of sayonara falls silent and the Maestro of the Massacre stands center stage, crimson dripping from the Holy Blade stained with sin once more. 

Only one other life remains and a dangerous gaze of dimmed jade is turning to glare daggers at the plant like woman. He’s raising his blade and taking stance to charge her when she merely raises her hand in his direction and snaps her fingers together. 

Jade eyes go wide before they start blinking rapidly and soon their owner is looking all around him with horror etching itself into his features.  Anger overcomes him as he refocuses on Gaudium’s Lord of Plants and Potions only to scream. 

“What did you do?! Answer me! You didn’t have to kill them!” 

But he only gets a small laugh in response as she floats over to him to rest just over his shoulders. 

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything. You did this, ‘kenshi-baby. This was all your work. You killed them all gracefully and you didn’t leave a single one alive. Truly expert skill.”   

“You’re lying!” He hisses as his mind starts to reel at the possibility. Her lungs didn’t sound like she was lying. 

“Am I though?” She asks coyly. “Look at your sword.” 

And her hand is pointing a finger down causing jade eyes to drop along with it even if he’s scared to do what she’s asking. The Maken is in his hand and it is covered in blood. He’s covered in blood.  

His hand is trembling as the Maken is released and a deep guttural scream escapes him from down in his belly as the Holy Blade clatters to the ground. His hands are flying up to slip into white locks in between his horns only for the scream to get louder.  

What was going ON?!!!! This wasn’t right!!! He doesn’t remember ANYTHING!!!! 

His entire body is shaking as his knees hit the ground. All he can do is scream. He killed these people. He slaughtered an entire town and he doesn’t even know how or why. He can’t remember their faces. He never knew their names.  He slaughtered these people and -  

Herba is wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she hovers there next to him for the moment, nuzzling her face in close to his own. 

“ You did so good today, ‘kenshi-darling. Let’s go home and tell, His Excellency, about what a good job you did. I’m sure he’ll reward you. Oh and !”  She’s letting her feet hit the ground to shuffle over to the now destroyed stand of the vendor from earlier that had been selling all sorts of sweet treats and she picks up what appears to be some sort of hard candy on a stick and extends it out to him.  “I said I’d get you anything. A treat for doing such a good job.” 

But he couldn’t eat anything now.  Now it would only taste bitter.   

A hand hasn’t been raised to him since it all happened. A hand hasn’t been laid on him either - not unless you count that disgusting woman putting her hands on his person whenever she so pleased. Not unless that.  He’s stuck with her again, because she got sent out on an errand for their “ever beloved” Tyrant and he was told he better go with her if he wanted to get out of the castle for a while. There’s been little half smirked comments like that floating his way ever since. 

Ever since that monster dropped his own name on him like a ton of bricks and disclosed that this beast does in fact know it’s prey better than said prey could have ever dreamed.  It’s like the most Intimate parts of his life have been exposed for this serpent to slither in close to coil and strangle him from the inside out. It’s a whole new choke hold on him now and his sielun värit has never felt tighter. 

 So now he gets sent out on missions like this. He gets sent out with Fungus or Oscha or Herba - whomever has been sent out to patrol the area and make sure there aren’t any uprisings.  As long as he’s in the presence of one of that monster’s underlings he’s safe, but something about this time made his skin crawl. 

He hardly wanted to go along with her and and he hardly wanted to be in her presence but he didn’t have a choice. He was stopped before they left, letting Herba go along ahead of him when Earl Tyrant simply raised a hand and beckoned him backwards. 

“Makenshi, a word.” 

He froze in place and turned upon command. It wasn’t even a command really but the prince of Misterica knew far better than that. Anything that came out of this little devil’s mouth that came in his direction was a command and he was painfully aware of that. Tone meant nothing. It was all wording that was important. Just as important as to what name he was being addressed by. They all held purposes and the prince was just as painfully aware of that too. 

“When you leave you are to stay in Herba’s presence at all times. Understand me? If you venture out of her sight I’ll start the clock and you’ll start racking up a debt and you don’t want that now do you?” 

The prince could only drop his head with down cast eyes that were more focused on the floor than the beast that was looking him over. 

“Do you?”  The demon chimed again, disappointed almost that the white clad swordsman had failed to answer him the first time. 

“No.”  

“No, what....” 

“No, Your Excellency.”   

It was a tone of defeat. It was a tone of a broken dog that was sick of taking a beating from the being that dubbed itself his master. It was the tone of resignation, knowing that no matter what he did - he was trapped here now. Twenty lives for every hour he’s missing and he couldn’t risk the lives of the innocent being sacrificed just so he could have some space to finally be able to breathe again. 

“You are to do everything she tells you. Her word is as good as my word, and if you disobey her, I will find out about it. So don’t try to get smart. Disobey her, and you’ll be racking up a debt. Do you understand me, Makenshi?

“Yes, Your Excellency.” 

Jade can only fall to the floor, even if he knows this tiny demon hates it when he does so. It is his one defiance left. His one act of free will. He’ll withhold his gaze for as long as he’s able. He, quite frankly, never wishes to look into those pale blue eyes ever again - but it seems the fates have other plans for him. If only he could be so fortunate. 

He’s always riding hated riding in her airship if only because flying was far more efficient, but then he’d get stuck carrying her in his arms and he could hardly say he ever wanted her that close to him. She’d be forced to touch him and she already does quite enough of that.  She doesn’t need an excuse to put her hands on him and he wasn’t about to give her one, so here he sets in this airship that is always absolutely saturated with the scent of the most disgusting perfume he has ever smelt in his life.

It’s always nauseatingly overpowered.  Sometimes he wonders if he’ll get sick on the smell, but today it is a much different scent but just as disgusting as the other one is. Today it’s a smell that makes him dizzy and he is quick to make sure that his mask is properly placed on his face but even taking in a few breaths of that awful smell leaves a horrid taste in his mouth and has his lungs tingling with an uncomfortable burn. 

He swears the whole space rocks to the side for a moment as he raises his hands to wipe at his eyes and attempt to find his balance. He really does hate flying in these damnable contraption, and for a moment he ponders over the name of such a thing and how it is perfectly fitting because that is exactly what they are - a trap for all poor souls that are stuck inside of it should something in it’s machinery fail and bring about it’s untimely downfall.  He does not trust these things, and he probably never would.  

But he can’t just leave because as he pondered before - then he would be carrying her with him. He can’t just leave because that little devil was clear in his words that the cloud prince must remain in her presence at all times and that was the current price on his freedom. He could leave if only when there was someone else firmly holding the leash to the collar fixed around his throat. 

The vertigo that is quickly infecting his system forces the prince to take an unwilling seat. He doesn’t even know where she’s going, and he can only assume he wasn’t told on purpose. It’s not often that he’s allowed outside of the castle and when he is, it’s for some nefarious plot. He has no doubt this time will be no different and if the burning sensation in his chest tells him, he’s sure she drugged him with something again.  

“Oh? ‘kenshi-baby, you don’t look so good. Close your eyes and take a nap if you need to. I’ll wake you when we get there. Are you going to be alright? You’re not motion sick are you?”  

He doesn’t even know what that means.  Motion sick? Is she referring how he can feel every motion in this damnable ship as it moves through the air? Is she referring to how it’s making his stomach twist and the vibrations of this metal beast’s engines were absolute murder on his ears even with his mask drawn? If she’s talking about that, then yes, he is absolutely motion sick.  How does one cure such a thing? She’s suggesting that he sleep but he hardly trusts her not to pull something on him while he does so. 

But even as he forces himself to stay awake out of his sheer distrust of her, his body disagrees and that smell continues to somehow force itself through the filtering system on his mask. So jade eyes find themselves fluttering closed only to jerk back open again - once and then twice. He can’t let ... himself.. fall... aslee - 

There’s a hand on his shoulder and it’s lightly shaking him.  

“Wake up.”  The voice above him says and the prince groans.  “Hey, wake up.”  It sounds again and the prince groans again lifting a hand to try to shush the offender away while jade eyes refuse to open. 

“Usva lemme alone. Lemme sleep.”  He sounds in a half tired daze, as yet another groan leaves the warrior adorned in white. 

“Usva?”  The voice above him chimes and his mind hears it decidedly more feminine. “Who’s that? ‘kenshi-baby it’s me. Wake up, darling. We’re here.”  

There’s yet another groan as hands raise to rub at closed eyes and when the prince opens his eyes he’s met with the blurry image of too much green and pink where red and pale should have been. As his sight clears, he’s met with those deep red eyes and painted lips curled up into a disgusting smile. Lady Tiamat blessed in heaven, he hates her.  

Forgive me Celestial Mother, for I wish not to take your name in vain.  

He feels groggy and he doesn’t want to get up. His body feels heavy and he doesn’t like it. Part of him wants to simply keep sleeping, while the rest of him is screaming at the part that does that he’s not safe, and he shouldn’t have been doing so in the first place, but at the very least he can say that this damnable ship has finally stopped moving.  Thank Tiamat. He did not think he could bear the sound of the engine chugging along any longer. It was making his head feel as though it would split in two. 

But stepped off that ship is a nightmare all over again. 

A familiar sight of a small village tucked away in seemingly nowhere, and he can already feel himself dig his heels into the ground because he knows what’s coming and that she did something while he was sleeping. She did something to alter his senses and to force his body to act against him. She did something.  It’s a nightmare all over again because he knows she’s about to ask him to kill.  

He can’t panic. He can’t panic and it’s in his attempt not to do so that he notes that those same heels that were digging in as soon as his vision laid on this remote little village, were actually doing as he asked. His body was responding to his commands. He wasn’t just a screaming voice in the back of his own mind, begging his body to cease it’s assault on the innocent and undeserving. 

She’s shifted closer to him and taken his hand into her own as she leads him forward with a wicked grin curved up on those poison painted lips all the while. He wants to wrench his hand from her grip but he can hear a voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he needed to do whatever she asked of him, so for now he’ll just deal with this small inconvenience. Even if the feeling her skin against his makes him want to wash his hands in scalding hot water if only to burn away the sensation of her ever touching him. 

They walk and they walk to a place at the back side of town where they enter a building and soon he’s met with a room that looks like its filled with what could be the entire town. There’s fifty maybe no at least eighty or ninety people here. Other lives, even if their race is different from his own and they are hardly humanoid.  A race of animal like people all gathered together and looking back at them. 

That’s when she speaks and he feels his heart stop. 

“I believe the other day when you ran off, you were gone for - how long would you say? Six hours? Six hours sounds right. It did take us a minute to find you. You’re getting better at hiding, even with all that white. Six hours is one hundred and twenty according to the agreement you now have with His Excellency. Isn’t that right?” 

All he can hear is his heart thudding between his ears because this cannot be happening. No. No this isn’t right! That rule wasn’t put into effect until after she drug him back to that little monster. That rules wasn’t in effect yet. He hasn’t left since. He’s been good. He’s behaved. He’s clung as close as he could to that damn prison while still finding a way to retain some sense of prison. He’s stayed on castle ground. He hasn’t left. The last time  he left was before that rule went into effect. 

“His Excellency wants you to clean up this unsightly place and in turn pay back your debts. You’re the one who left unannounced, Makensh- Baby, so really you chose this for yourself.” 

“I won’t.”  His voice hasn’t been stripped from him this time and his words crack like a whip snapping back at its master. “I won’t kill them. That rule wasn’t even in effect yet.” 

Painted lips push out into a pout as red eyes look at him with a glint of disapproval. 

“So you’re saying I should tell His Excellency that you refused me?”  She sounds and the tyrant himself is echoing in his mind. 

Her word is as good as my word, and if you disobey her, I will find out about it.

No. He doesn’t care. Let that little monster break him half. Let that little beast snap his neck and rip the mist from his lungs. He doesn’t care what that monster does to him. He just doesn’t care.  

“I’m going to be honest with you for a moment Makenshi. If I were you, I’d do what I was told because he’s giving you a pretty nice show of mercy right now. Why? Because if you don’t do it, I will and I will make sure every last one of these ingrates suffers in the longest more excruciating possible. I know you knightly types, don’t think I haven’t noticed. We’ve all noticed. You’re honor bound. So either you give these people a quick and near painless death or you leave it to me and I’ll make them suffer. Like the dogs they are. You wanted something you could control didn’t you? This is it. You get to control how much suffering these people experience, because they’re going to die whether you like it or not.” 

He swears he can’t breathe while she’s speaking and he hates that while she does so, he’s mentally calling the Maken up to his grip. 

A audible click and she’s smiling wider.  Red eyes all a sparkle as the blade floats away from the belt that keeps it and the white clad warrior is raising his hand to retrieve it from the air. His mask flows back to reveal the youthful features hidden beneath and his lips part to release a thick white misty cloud that has been releasing deep within his lungs. 

From this day forward he would be nothing but a devil in their eyes, but so be it if it spares them from the torture and suffering they would otherwise endure. 

                                              “I’m sorry.” 

It’s been a year since he’s come to this place, to this Wonderland as they called it. He didn’t understand it at first. He didn’t understand how this place worked or functioned. He didn’t understand how Wonderland came to be but soon it was all made clear. There was a promise that if he behaved himself and helped that damnable child keep order here in Wonderland then his own piece of Misterica could be restored to him. There was a promise but the crowned prince of the promised world wasn’t about to fall for such a blatant lie.  All of resided in Misterica had been swallowed by that damnable darkness and his world was reduced to... well he doesn’t know what it was reduced to but he knows it was no more.  

He kept his head down regardless. Even if this world was made of lost souls who still remained within the remnant of their previous world. Even if this world was stitched together like the fabric of the universe with one world added at a time. Even if that were so, that doesn’t means Misterica was a part of it. Much less Windaria for that matter. Both places he called home were gone now. He couldn’t be bought so easily.  There was a way to buy the prince however. A way to his ever bleeding heart. A heart bred to lead. A heart raised to serve his people above all else. 

If these souls were lost then they were his people now, for he was just as lost as they were.  In turn he would protect them. He would protect them however he could and if that meant trading his pain for their safety then he would do just that. He would submit to that monstrous child if only to spare one mother, one father, one sister, one brother, one child. If his own agony could spare one life, then it would be worth the pain. He could withstand it. He would learn to withstand it. He would force himself to bear it. He would become stronger than he’d ever been in the past because he would learn to swallow his fear. 

He had to. He had to do that if he were to survive. He had to swallow the one thing that motivated this monster if he were to keep on living. But he would always keep on living. While he was caught here, a bird in a locked cage he learned another thing. While he learned of the world around him, he learned of himself as well. He learned one very important thing. He cannot die. No matter what that beast did to him, he still woke up there after. No matter how cruel that monster was. No matter how much he felt like that demon was going to break him in half. No matter the punishment, he would wake there after. He would lie gasping for air in a pile of his broken body on the floor until his frame had healed enough that he found the strength to lift it. No matter how the session ended, he would wake there after.

Even when that vile monster wrapped his neck and pulled just a little too hard. Even when he swears he felt his neck snap. He doesn't remember anything after that round of punishment. He doesn't remember because the world suddenly stopped when the pressure became too much. He was screaming out in agony when his tremolo suddenly ceased without warning. It took him a while to realize what happened. It took him awhile because he still hasn't quite figured out what that word meant yet.

But when he woke that strange man, with that strange mask was over him with an unreadable expression but far too much glee in his tone for his words.

"Oh?" He'd sounded. "It seems my assumption was correct. Lord Makenshi is unlimited."

He could only stare at him with confusion in green eyes when the man, Oscha, leaned in close - too close -up and sounded again.

"Lord Makenshi, are you not aware of what happened?"

The prince shook his head.

"You died. How many other times have you cheated death I wonder? The power of an unlimited is truly an amazing feat."

He knew. He knew in that moment. He doesn’t understand how he became to be one of these unlimited or how many of them there were but he knew one thing. It was a curse.  

He was raised to believe he was special because he was Misterica’s White Prince but that prophecy failed to tell them all the truth. Their precious White Prince was not special he was cursed. How was he supposed to bring about salvation when everyone around him were fated to do nothing but die when he himself could not.  

He’s lost them all. He’s lost his mother, his father, his brother - and Tanári Szél and Tanári Aura too. Such a strange family for Misterica’s White Prince but it was his family just the same. He loved them and he missed them every day. He just needed to get out.  It seemed impossible to do so.  He needed to get out and get as far away from this place as he could. It was impossible however when that strange masked man and that annoying plant like woman seemed to watch his every move. 

He needed to get out.  He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take it one second more. He couldn’t take being called by that pint sized demon for only Tiamat knows what. 

He just needed to bide his time, and bide his time he did. He played dead.  He played dead this time and let that beast think he’d killed him again.  He cut out his screams. He ceased moving. He swallowed down his agony and made his frame drop limp. He let the mist build in his lungs until it burned.

 He forced himself to bear the pain like an unmoving doll. He faked his death this time and he let that masked man drag him out of the room only to be throw wherever while his body worked to repair the damage. He bided his time and he waited until they thought he was good and dead for several days and that was when he ran. 

Fled in the night under the cover of darkness. He may have been a pure white soul but still the darkness could dampen his glow. He thought it stopped a year ago. He thought he stopped when... they died.  No longer was he a little moon in the night. He just needed to get away. He needed to be moving as fast as possible if only to spare himself from the devil incarnate. 

How far did he fly? How much land did he cross? He hadn’t seen Wonderland with his own eyes because he was trapped in that castle from the moment he arrived. He was trapped and held prisoner. He didn’t know the terrain. He didn’t know the land or more over, the lands. He didn’t know anything about this place except for what he’d been told.  The people of these lost worlds that he’d traded his life for more times than he cared to admit in this past year.  He’s lost it all, so he’ll be lost with them. If he can be with them, then he can protect them and he can do so at the full scope of his wrath. 

The Earl will know true fear because he will stand against him, Maken drawn and ready for war.  He will go to war with the devil, himself, because what else does he have to lose?  

There’s a body in his vision. There’s the form of something black in the corner of his sight and there’s pull in his chest that’s begging him not to ignore it, even though his mind is screaming that he needs to find safety above all else. He needs to find safety first - red hair. That person had red hair.  His breath hitches in his throat and he’s bringing himself down to land. Words escape him the closer he gets to the ground and the dark form’s details are made clear. 

“Tanári Szél!” 

It’s a sense of relief and worry all at once. His feet are on the ground by the collapsed form. Jade eyes are taking in the sight of that face. A face he knew so well and before he realized what he was doing, his hands are at the other’s shoulders trying to shake the other man awake with a desperation he hasn’t felt since he told himself he needed to kill his own heart to survive. 

“Tanári Szél wake up! Wake up! You need to wake up! I need you to wake up! Please wake up. I can’t take being here alone anymore.”  

There’s a hard shake from Misterican hands and a desperate plea from their own. Jade eyes are pleading as the prince tries again to no avail.  Again he shakes his would be family, desperate to see any kind of life. There’s a groan. A groan and for the first time since they were last together, there is hope reviving in long since dull green eyes.  

Slowly the Windarian in front of him began to stir and Valkoinen Pilvi sat hopeful in front of him, waiting to see the blue seas he missed the way the Moon missed the Sun. But where there should have been deep blue there was only red. Deep, blood like crimson and Windarian fangs bearing from parting lips. A growl, and a hand swiping forward as if to claw at the one who woke him. 

The Prince could only move backwards so fast, and narrowly does that hand miss him when it lashes out.  What’s happening to him? What’s wrong? He’s acting possessed like something is controlling him - like that blood red Gun Dragon. Like Bahamut himself is still tainted. 

He thought he killed them. He thought he killed Tanári Szél if only to release him from this torment but it seems that in all the time he spent trying to save the lives of the people here - all his pain and all his torment weren’t enough to save his only remaining family. Tanári Szél was still trapped in that hellish torment and there was nothing he could do about it. 

A growl, a snarl - like a wild animal - a hand clawed in his direction and the prince moves backwards again to get out of the way. What does he do? He can’t leave him like this and he can’t go back. He most certainly can’t go back. That same hand is reaching, moving down towards the holster on his teacher’s hip and the swordsman knows he has to act and he has to act now.  Hopefully, he’ll forgive him when he wakes. 

He’s moving in a flash, mask flooding away as he closes the gap between then to hug the man as close as possible while using that dragon like strength of his to pin the elder’s flaring arm to his side. There’s pain in his voice as he speaks. He knows what he has to do but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want ... 

“Tanári Szél I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” 

A deep breath and a low exhale. The space around them filled with mist so thick there was nothing else to breathe and all the prince could do was wait. Wait as the elder took in several breaths and soon crazed red eyes closed and he collapsed in the Misterican’s arms. 

... to be alone again.  

He was alone again. He had no one all over. Now he needed to find a place where he could sleep. He needed to find a place where they could hide. He just needed Tanári Szél to rest and then he would be better, right? But for how long?  He needed Tanári Szél to sleep and then he would be well again, wouldn’t he? 

“Have you seen him?”  A voice sounds off in the distance. A village perhaps? His ears can pick up the sound from much further than his eyes can see.  “A young man. White hair, dressed in pure white.” 

His face pales. He knows that voice.  He’d know her voice anywhere. He can feel his heart racing in his chest as he pulls his comrade close. He doesn’t have time.  If they find them... if they .... The Earl knew.... 

He should have known that viper wouldn’t let it’s prey get away so easily. He should have known. He should have known that he’d send them out looking for him. His precious Lords of Gaudium.  

Pilvi can only scramble so fast as he lifts his Teacher from the ground and flies. His eyes are looking for anywhere he can hide him, so they don’t get their hands on them both. That monster can’t have them both. He won’t let that monster have them both.  He’s panicking and he’s not thinking straight. 

A town of buildings made from roots and branches, over grown trees?  He can hide him there for now. He can hide him there where there seems to be no one else around. 

“He’s a very important comrade of ours and we just want to make sure he’s safe.” 

He can hear her in his ear no matter how far away he gets. She’s closing in on him.  Lying to the people to find him.  

Gently does his land, and gently does he place his counterpart against a tree. Another deep but worried breath before the prince exhales for a final time. A blanket of mist to make sure the other stays in a deep deep slumber for a long time.  He can hear her voice still. He can hear the chattering of the people from what he assumes is the next town over. 

“Rest now, and I’ll come back for you. I promise. I’ll come back for you, Tanári Szél ... For now, sleep.” 

He won’t let that monster have them both so he must make sure she can never find him. He must get as far from here as possible. He must.... 

"If you can’t tell me where he is, then I’ll just burn this place to the ground.” 

His heart bleeds for them when he hears her threat. His body is moving before he can reason with himself to stop. What was he going to do? Attack her? Cause a scene? Go to war for this village and possibly get more people killed? 

He’s sinking down from the sky as he feels her eyes on him. He returned to her without even putting up a fight. 

“Oh there you are ‘kenshi darling.” 

His mask is enough to hide his disgust for her overly affectionate nature, as he allows himself to hover over to her. 

“Come along now, we must go back home. His Excellency is quite upset and wants you home as soon as possible. So let’s go darling.” 

He’s trapped. He’s trapped again as he returns to the halls that have become intimate with his screams. He’s trapped again and he’s returned to floors that know the taste of his blood.  He’s trapped again as he’s sent in alone to face the devil with pale eyes and pale skin.  Alone, he stands before that child again.  Alone. 

He’s alone again. 

He shifts for a moment, and holds his hands firmly together in front of himself. They twist and grip at themselves. His nails dig into his skin but the tension never once shows on his face. He’s free. He’s free of that monster, but is he really? When it dies it is only reborn again, so will  he ever really be free of it? Will he be free of it when he wears it’s damage upon his skin? Will he be free of it when he can still feel his breath on his skin and his fingers ghosting over his face? 

That demonic child’s voice haunts his every waking moment so how could he ever hope to truly say he’s found freedom? He’s a thing of unexplainable power because despite the fact that this demon has rendered his body to lifelessness time and time again - this demonic beast still manages to haunt him. Haunt him his every waking moment, even when he, himself, has become nothing more than the walking dead.  

How can a being be so powerful that it can even haunt the dead?  He thought the dead were the ones who were supposed to be doing the haunting. 

It’s a perfect relationship they have in that way he supposes.  A ghost attached to a demon. How does he escape? He doesn’t and the longer he’s away - the longer he’s getting some taste of freedom he understands that. He’ll never not be that useless wretch. He’ll never not be that pathetic mess. He’ll never not be Little Cloud.  It’s a mantle that was forced upon him, just as Makenshi was but while he will always be The Demon Swordsman, he can’t seem to find a way that allows him to break the chains Chaos has placed upon him. 

That little demon knew exactly what he was. That little demon knew what he was because he was the one who struck the first kill. Were all his own deaths justified in that way? Were they just revenge? He struck Chaos down first. He struck Chaos down with his own blade, when that monster dared to slip inside the soul of his adoptive family. He struck Chaos down with shaking hands when his counterpart, his sun begged the Moon to dampen his light. 

So he did as he was told. 

He’s always been like that. 

From the moment he was born, he’s done as he was told without question, so of course such a symbiotic relationship as the one he held with that thing was only normal. That little beast would drain him of his life in return for the single time the swordsman dared to cut the monster down. A pink haired demon and how natural it was that such a beast gave rise to Wonderland’s own White Devil. They were demonic entities. Should they not stand hand in hand? 

He hated him. He hated him for everything that beast has ever done to him. He hated him for every broken bone, every punctured lung, every strangled cry and every single snapped neck. Every skipped heartbeat, and every missing second of his life  - he hated that monster - but in return for his hatred - that monster claimed to give him back some twisted form of affection that only made his insides twist and his stomach feel sick.  

That beast called itself his Master. That monster called him it’s pet, and he didn’t know how his life had degraded so thoroughly that with time he went from being a person to nothing but an object - and he couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t escape that one truth in life. He was more an object than a person. He was always just someone else’s thing. A tool to be used, or property to be controlled. He was never quite a person and in that right it was much better to be a ghost.  

He had more autonomy as a corpse after all, so he would much rather be that.  

It was the path of least resistance. No one dares cross your path when you’re a ghost. When you’re dead and this monster - this monster drained the life from him over and over again. It - it hurt too much to fight. It hurt to much to bark back and to growl. It hurt too much and if he had learned anything it was not to bite the hand that feeds you. 

Because even in his wretchedness His Excellency never looked the other way. His Excellency made sure he knew that he was his favorite. He was favored. That beast did more than just strangle him so he may drink up his panic like a parched dog. That beast also praised and met him with touches so gentle they reminded him of his mother.  That beast in it’s own twisted way attempted to protect him from the outside world.  That beast was the firmest hand in his lifetime but it was to teach him a lesson. 

It was to mold him into a monster that could survive the world’s true horrors. It was to form the ghost that would haunt Wonderland with nothing but the song sang of a silent specter’s symphony of sayonara.  

It was all for his better good and he sees that now. The world would never accept him and now he sees. He sees and he almost misses the taste of the poison he was forced to ingest on a daily basis because even as it damaged him from the inside out, at least he was familiar with the taste. It was always easier to digest the familiar. It was always easier to stay on the path one knew, even if it was killing him. Even if he felt that beast tear him apart from the inside out when their spirits intertwined in that last battle. 

He’s shattered now. As final parting gift from his would be master, to leave his impression his pet’s flesh so that the prince would forever remember just exactly what he did and just exactly who he belonged to. 

“His Excellency was... complicated. Honestly when it comes to him I don’t quite know what to say.”