Ruin Maketh Me

74 - Inheritance

     My eyes snap open, and the yellow tinted ceiling comes back into focus. I leap up from the soft bed, heart hammering in my ribcage in an attempt to break free, was that all a dream? Ralph's desperate eyes and touch cling to my skin in an untearable membrane of lucid reality. Did we, did we not truly touch? Was that passion another conjuring of my deprived mind under the influence of Delia's mind?
     I reach a hand into my pants and probe my asshole. No semen and it's still as tight as ever. The only sign of what I saw in that secluded place is the sticky mess of cum in the front. Running my fingers through my hair, I pad to the bathroom and dunk my body under the shower, clothes and all. Cold water shoots out, and in moments I'm soaking wet and cold to the bone, but I stay there. To think clearer, to punish myself, to calm the hearth burning within me, I don't know, but one thing's clear admits the rivers of ice water:
     That was not a dream.
     The raw scent of blood and sweat was not a figment of my imagination. It was all too real, too full of truth to be something formed out of a mind like mine. The whole scene, the impenetrable darkness, the individual strands of Ralph's white hair, the violet night of his eyes, they all lacked the fragile, illusive nature of a dreamscape. Rather than touching but not feeling, every contact with Ralph made the structure of flesh and muscle surer and absolutely definite.
     I step out onto the marble floor, and the water extinguishes behind me. That place was as real as this place; perhaps even more so, compared to this poor mimic of 'heaven's realm'. That only leaves one possibility: the barren landscape was a joint meeting of our two consciousnesses, just like how Julius kept calling me to his dreamscape before. But if that's so, why did Ralph act the way he did? Like a hurt animal, like he had no grasp over things like memories, like all our interactions were a necessity of instinct. Surely Julius had a full grasp on his mind when he dragged me into his consciousness and kissed me over and over?
     Shaking my head, I wrap a towel around me and step back into the room. Yes, Julius had his mind. But the key point of my interaction with Ralph was his unusual state of being. The darkened eyes, the extended claws, the sharpened fangs, they all echo closely to movements when Ralph was close to losing control. I scratch the back of my neck and bite the inside of my cheek. This has something to do with the Shadow doesn't it? Sol had mentioned it very briefly as something characteristic to demons, a violent alter ego, something like that.
     But that Ralph was not anything like that. He was tortured and in pain and... pitiful.
     "Ahhh!" I tear at my hair and slam open the wardrobe doors. Don't tell me I have to ask Delia about these things. Fuck, she'll just have another excuse to tear me apart. I can imagine it now, she'd probably sneer at me in cold disdain and reprimand me, "See, you don't even know the minimum about demons, how can you possibly take care of my brother?"
     God damn it, even Hoplin would be better than Delia.
     I brush through the hanging clothes, and surprisingly, other than bathrobes, they have clean shirts and pants as well. A smile tips up a corner of my lip. Is this in case customers rip theirs having too much fun? No matter, I take out a medium sized shirt and pants, and although they are slightly big, they fit just fine over my body. Thankfully, it seems that this body has grown a few inches taller; perhaps it won't be long before I reach the previous height I attained last life.
     Taking another look around the room, I pocket the key and step out into the corridor. Everything's just as it was, the glimmering yellow light crawls up the white walls in a faux night, and even the sounds of pleasure still radiate through the eternal space. No sign of daylight spills into this extension of hedonism's hell, it's like this place is immune to the ravages of time. Standing here, before this door, it's like I've just arrived. But outside, it must be approaching dawn; my body never lies.
I take a step towards Hoplin's door across the corridor, but before I'm even halfway there, the door neighbouring mine clicks open. Turning around, I catch sight of a sweet looking youth with chocolate curls and gleaming olive skin peppered with hickeys limping out from the room. He sends me an absent look not yet devoid of the after-sex-laziness, but after a long second, his eyes widen and cherry-red lips fall open. The door slams shut behind him, but he doesn't move, only stares at me with a delirious joy and grievance foaming from his round hazel eyes.
His gaze spin around my features in a crazy merry-go-round, "Is it...Is it you, Master?" A deep voice incongruent to his dainty stature grates out from his throat.
He recognises me? But before I can give any sort of answer, he half-limps, half-leaps forward and grasps my hand, tears bleeding from his eyes.
"Oh Master, I knew you were alive! Everyone kept saying that you died, but I knew it couldn't be! You've come here to save me, haven't you? You've come here to save your Oliver, I knew someone as kind as you wouldn't have forgotten me!" His hands shake, and hot tears splash all over my shirt, "But, but Master," A deep, dramatic sadness overwhelms his thin brows, "I don't think I can leave this place anymore, please, forgive me. I did fight, I really did when they first sold me here, but now... Now, I know I don't deserve to serve you anymore, and this place, this place isn't all that bad."
"Oliver," I call tentatively, following the inexplicable rise of nostalgia within my body, "calm down."
His shoulders tense, but due to his hysteria or the warp of time, he doesn't seem to notice anything wrong. Instead, he bites down on his lower lip obediently and tries to stifle his hiccuped cries, "Yes Master..." But again, as quick as a mask changer, his eyes become livid and razor sharp, "Master, you don't know how awful your father is! Right after the news," He quietens, "The news of your death, he adopted Nicholas as his heir, saying that he was his legitimate son and sold me to this place! You need to get back your rightful place Master! I can't bear to live knowing that Nicholas has stolen everything that's rightfully yours, when, when you're the only good one in that family." His slender hands tighten around mine until his knuckles burn white, and a sharp ache squeezes my bones, "I hate them. I hate all of them. They wronged you and me! They blamed me for helping you elope, but we did nothing wrong at all!"
I snap my hands from his grip, and pat him gently on the shoulder, "I know, Oliver, I know. Don't cry, I'll make it all right, your revenge and...mine." A strange yet deep sorrow wells up inside the ache of my heart.
A sly glint overtakes the wrath burning the pale glen of his eyes, "Master, do you know what's the most hilarious thing? They haven't noticed that the ring's a fake. They haven't realised at all!" Rough barks of laughter slaps out of his mouth, "Thank Uhyl's we made one just in case. I've kept my promise, I've been keeping the real one for you all these years, I knew you'd come back one day."
My eyebrows jump up involuntary, completely out of my control, and my hands tighten around his wrist, "Let's talk somewhere else, somewhere...safe."
He nods tightly and tugs me along the corridor with a low bow of his head, "This way Master, I know somewhere just right."
Onwards we march in a hurried sprint characteristic of pursued plotters. Doors and walls and lamps flash by in a carousel fashion, again and again, uncountable times until we come to... a gap in the wall. The black, narrow slit calls in a voiceless demand, and Oliver turns to me flush-faced with a nod of encouragement.
"Here." He points into the gaping abyss.
I swallow and try to tear my gaze away from the hole, but no matter how hard I urge my eyes to turn away, they do not obey. Something about this gap is repulsive, ugly and absolutely frightful. But it's not just the appearance, something about what's beyond pounds a different rhythm in my heart.
Oliver pulls me towards the crevice. First, his legs dissolve into the darkness, then his torso, shoulders, head, and the link bridging the two of us together. I close my eyes and let the unknown swallow me. The sensation of breaking through water passes over my skin again, and after a momentary moment of choking, everything seems to regain normality.
My eyes blink open.
We're in a room very similar to the one I stayed in. The only difference is that this room is covered in a thick layer of dust, and the walls are charred an ungainly ashen grey.
"I didn't see this place when I was led in."
Oliver smiles a little, "You can never find the place you're looking for here, especially when it's your first time. It's the speciality of this place." He spins round, lifting dust up everywhere, "This room is where the Otherworlder first came into being, the energy outburst was so great, it destroyed this entire club. They had to rebuild it, and even now, the energy warp's not completely mended, that's why this place's so strange."
I nod slowly, mouth dry, "The Queen of Mal?"
"Yes," He says with an otherworldly wonder, "it's phenomenally hard to find this place, so no one will disturb us here."
Oliver starts to unbutton his shirt, but one spot on the floor steals my eyes entirely away from him. It's a smudge of rusty brown red faded but still discernible under the dotty, grey layers of dust.
Only one word, but it draws all the breath away from my lungs.
Ashford.
A bloody name written in large, shaky capital letters across that single spot.
My fingers tremble, and a buzz echoes back and forth inside my head, an unscratchable itch. What is that name doing here again? And the Otherworlder too, why are these two connected? Why, why, why, why, why, why, why?
"Master?"
My head snaps up at the half-naked Oliver, staring at me with large watery eyes, and I try to keep my voice from shaking, "Yes."
He sweeps his eyes over the room with a shrewd wariness and giving me a satisfied nod, he extends a hand towards an elaborate tattoo on his chest. The edges of the tattoo shine bright gold, and his fingers enter into his chest without any barriers. A thrum swims through my bones, and when he pulls out a small velvet box, my whole body is humming like a thousand volts of electricity are travelling through me.
"I can't give you the inheritance ceremony you deserve Master," Oliver smiles full of sorrow, "I hope you don't mind."
He kneels, opens the velvet box and produces a gold ring. The moment the shining metal fell into my eyes, I could not speak or move, I could only stare at the metal band. Each swirl and etching fall into my sight in such an undeniable manner, it's like I'm looking at the object through a magnifying glass. A force rises through my body, and I cannot fight it. No matter how hard I struggle, I cannot fight it. It's as holy as the hand that caressed me from the heavens during my bonding with Sol.
Words that I both simultaneously understand and cannot understand swim from between Oliver's full lips, and he raises the sacred object to my left pinky. At this action, a tether between Me and this body snaps within, and completely foreign words lisp from my mouth in a torrent of desperate belief. A pure light engulfs both ring and finger, and there's a moment of pure ecstasy. My mind burns in the guidance of an unnameable force and power.
When finally, after a mere second or an eternity I don't know, the blinding glow recedes and my eyes become My Eyes, and this body becomes My Body, there's no ring on my pinky, but an iridescent tattoo that shines gold. For a second, I'm completely taken by the beauty of such a simple thing, but then, a pain rips through the connection on my finger.
I clench my jaw and muffle the cry, but thankfully, Oliver's attention is not on me but the 'ring'.
Tears stream down his face in rivulets, "Thank Uhyls, it's really you Master. I wasn't completely sure before, but now I know, it's definitely you!"
"You." I seethe through my teeth, "How can you not recognise me."
He shuffles on the spot and winces, "Well Master, your hair colour's different and you haven't aged a bit. You still look the same as we last met, and me on the other hand, I'm so old now. It's been ten years after all..."
I bend my back, and a sigh puffs through my mouth. It's undeniable now isn't it? I'm that so-called young master of Voight who mated with Salaben. Bloody hell, my fingers seize up, did 'I' have a fucking kid with an elf?
"Now that you've been accepted by the ring of Inheritance, you can kick Nicolas off his seat, Master!"
I swallow the pain immobilising my entire hand, "What about you Oliver? I can't imagine you'd be content in a place like this." My eyes travel down the red hickeys spanning across his upper body.
A hurried hand comes up and covers the marks, "Master, I, I'm afraid I'm no use to you now. And, well, I'm genuinely content in this place." His doe eyes bend in a heart aching nostalgia, "The times we spent together were indeed beautiful, but they've all passed now. This is the way I live now, and I don't think I'll be able to survive any other way, even if you are able to take me out. You'll find that I've changed just like you've changed, and not all changes are for the better, Master. I can't say I'm completely happy here, but I'm content enough, just like the way I'd be in any other place, just like any other person." His lips jerk up into an ugly smile, "Sorry for being selfish, but those tremendous joys come with tremendous sadness. Now that you're here, I can move on from these angers and revenges and perhaps, I'll be happier from today onwards. I'm quite high-ranking here, I can choose my own customers, so you don't have to worry about me, Master, no," A peace comes over his face, "Elijah."
Unbidden emotions and words choke me by the throat, and even I cannot distinguish whether they belong to me or Elijah.
Oliver opens his mouth to say something more, but as if hearing something exclusive to him, his expression turns to one of intent listening.
      "I'd show you to the exit personally if I could, but I'm afraid I can't stay for any longer. When you step out of the corridor, turn right and keep your eyes on the ceiling. You should find yourself at the stairs in twenty or so metres. If Uhyls would allow it, I'm sure we'll meet again, but Elijah, it was an honour being your valet. I'm very happy to see you again. " All his previous frenzy washes away into a pale joy, "Goodbye and best of luck."
      Without a backwards glance, he melts away into the dark crack leading back out.
Why? My fingers clench into fists. Why doesn't he want to be set free? Why would he be content staying in this hellhole? When I was working in places like this, all I wanted day in day out was to run away, let go, be free like all the other people walking through life. And Oliver, from the hate in his eyes to the frantic words he spit out to me, I'm sure, hated this place as much as I did the 'clubs' back on Earth. So why the apathy now?
     My hand clenches and unclenches, and my thoughts buzz from the name on the floor to the ring to uncertain things in the future. He had let this place grow into him like a tumour. And now, he didn't have the guts to cut it out even though he should've. Even if it would've costed him his limbs, he should've torn this place out of him roots and all. That's what I would've done.
     That's what I did.
     My thumbs press into my temples to ease the vice-like pressure squeezing my skull, and taking one last glance at the skewed letters on the floor, I step through the membrane of darkness again. The whitewashed walls of the corridors blink into sight and along with it, three pairs of reproachful eyes.
     "Where do you think you're going?" Delia asks, voice colder than yesterday.
     But I find that I cannot reply. The form of the bloody letters flash through my mind again. I can read this world's language as fluently as I can English, thanks to this body, but those letters on the floor... They had been completely written in English.
      The Otherworlder came from Earth. Like me.