Repent: Gwyllomay of the Darkness (1.5) (MANUSCRIPT)

-CHAPTER 35- Intoxication Loses Its Defense, Part Two

    "G- Gwyllomay, it's h- hard!" Brandon's lips bubbled up with foam. "It's hard- So difficult to even think right now!" Suddenly, the black diamonds in his eyes reappeared. "HA! Tell me why, Gwyllomay, it is so, that you fancy Grace so much. I want to hear your personal reasoning for it." 

    "Uh, that's a bit random when considering the situation, don't you think?" 

    "Random? Nonsense! That is but a created concept." 

    "Doesn't make it any less 'random'." 

    "Hmph. Sounds like something I would say!" 

    "Well, if you really must attain the knowledge as to what attracted me to Grace, it was because, of that classic, simple folly. The folly that almost all good 'vampire-stories' wield." 

    Brandon's head started to nod. "I see. It appears, unfortunately, that you're going to have to be a bit more detailed than that! What do these 'vampire-stories' hold so dearly, and commonly?" 

    "Grace Smithwell resembles a former, dear lover of mine." I licked my lips. "Alexandra Yuliannos, the Savoring Embrace of the Stars." 

     Brandon's cheeks bobbed some. "G- Gwyllomay, I'm t- trying to fight him!" 

    "That's the stuff, Brandon! Keep on tellin' yourself that. Hmph, maybe one day you'll impress Grace. Or, perhaps, you're doomed to always play the part of the 'cool fool'." 

    "Gwyllomay!" Brandon shouted, red veins protruding out from his neck. "Your sass is fucking irritating me... SO GOD-DAMN MUCH!" 

    "That's a good boy. Now, fight off Choronzon." I bit my bottom lip. 

    "Why are you trying to anger your 'friend'?" 

     That damn faerie's voice poked through once more as Brandon's eyes began to bleed a cosmic kind of ooze, black as the void. 

    "Because he's either gonna make himself a shitty vessel, or you're going to have to learn how to get along with each other." 

     "Wh- Why should I get along with a pesky... human?" 

    "It would seem that your options are limited as to what you can do about living out the rest of your days in his body. You can't, I don't believe, extract this little bit of your essence out of Brandon's body, and escape, can you?" 

    The left leg of the general suddenly wobbled. Muscles contracting as they folded the clothing around him, the general put a hand to his right ear. I watched as this militant man capitulated down to his knees, a stance most unfitting of him. 

    "M- My sheath is shaking." Brandon's original voice shined through once more. 

    "Hmph, odd. And... I'm quite annoyed at you, Choronzon. I'm quite annoyed at all of this. This mess you've made. We came here, originally, to find a ghost that could possibly have some connections to Polidoria. After all, that was what the general and Grace had said, though I'm sure it was to win me over. That was the selfish bit of certainty I needed in order to drag my ancient self over to this spot. This little, insignificant spot on the Earth. And look what you went and did! You blew the stupid spirit away with your fashionable entrance. What a burden you must be! I don't believe that it was completely clear as to who her 'creator' was. You absolutely must know, after all, that the Laven Spirits are usually created by someone. They've been created, throughout history and time, by all sorts of 'denizens'. Humans and faeries alike, you see. Even certain animals, it has been said, grew rarely sentient enough one day, to rise and call forth the creation and manifestation of the 'Laven'. So the creator of this female apparition, is still quite ambivalent and mysterious, thanks to no other than you."