Creative Corner

@TwilightDreams ah i did !! forgot to say "pings were here" ^^;

Everything was going according to plan.
Gordon finally had everything he wanted. Freedom, a servant, and a section of the Mirror's Realm, and soon, the world to call his own. The wind was blowing, causing the ends of his jester's cap to fly about.
And yet, his putrid master was still standing in his way, knives brandished.
"Gordon!" The master, Christopher, called out, preparing to throw the knives. "Gordon, you must stop this at once! You're destroying the dimensional rift between worlds!"
"Good," Gordon sneered. "Even more for me to rule." He brought out a long, metal pole for battle. It wasn't that he was too weak to summon other weapons, it was just that he didn't need any others. "You want a battle for the rift you only now care for? Fine. Do your worst."
Christopher raised one shaky arm, clearly about to throw his knife. He was showing fear, an emotion that he'd never once experienced. Sighing, his master dropped the knife, and summoned a large, bent metal bat, fury glowing in his monochrome eyes.
Gordon cackled. "Fear? Come, Christopher. I thought you knew better than to show emotion. Maybe your little angel really did have an impact on you." He scoffed. "Good thing you don't have to deal with her anymore, right?"
"SHUT UP!" Chris charged at Gordon, only to be flung across the room with a single powerful jab from Gordon's pole, which was now sparking on one end.
"My, my, Christopher. Rash as ever, are you?" Gordon turned from his master, holding an illusion orb in one gloved hand. "Maybe she can convince you that it's pointless."
Gordon tossed the orb behind him, causing it to shatter and release a blueish brown smoke.

~~

As the smoke cleared, Gordon and Chris found themselves at a train station, one that was very familiar and held many dark memories to Christopher. Gordon concealed himself with magic just as Christopher was opening his eyes. As he stood up and looked around, Christopher's eyes grew wide with worry as he looked around. He was standing at the edge of the platform, near the tracks. Rumbling could be heard in the distance.
"Well?" A voice sounded from behind Christopher. "Is there a point now?"
Christopher turned to find a young woman with six long, black-scaled spindly wings, golden brown hair, and piercing dark blue eyes.
"Zena?" Christopher asked in disbelief. "What are you..."
"You didn't answer my question." Zena stepped forward to stand next to him. "What point is there in trying to stop him?"
"Zena, please," Christopher pleaded. "You know that this will destroy the universe-"
"So? Just let it happen. This world doesn't deserve saving." She took out a cigarette and lit it, as the rumbling of an oncoming train came closer and closer, and the two large headlights became visible in the pitch darkness.
"But-"
"Just give up, Chris. It's pointless. Whatever you did to make it here, it's pointless. If his plan fails, it doesn't matter. The damage has already been done." Zena threw aside her cigarette, watching eagerly as the train came closer to them. It was only a matter of time.
"NO!" Chris grabbed Zena's arms, knowing what she was going to do. "I'm not letting you die again!"
"Why not?" She hissed, not attempting to resist. "I'm already gone. It doesn't matter what you do."
Just as Chris was about to say another word, Zena phased through his arms and leapt off the platform.
The train sped by, and Chris could only watch her disappear again.

~~

"Are you convinced yet?" Gordon spat as the world around Christopher faded away. "Even your little darling gave up. Why shouldn't you?"
"That's not her!" Christopher retorted. "That- That was a fake!" Tears were welling up in his eyes, as he replayed the scene over in his head.
"Maybe," Gordon replied coolly, as he raised his staff over his head. "But it doesn't matter. I will conquer these worlds, and reshape them in my image, make them into worlds worth fighting for. Into worlds Zena would have been proud of."
"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ZENA!" Christopher roared. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE WAS PROUD OF! STOP PRETENDING ALREADY! STOP TALKING ABOUT HER!"
"She was proud of me," Gordon hissed. "She was proud of me just as much as you hated me. She cared about me, about my deformities. Shocking, huh? Your favorite angel loved some pathetic half-breed like me." Gordon snarled, as lightning sparked above his head. "Enough talk. You have come to get in my way, and I will destroy you."
"No!" Christopher cried. He wouldn't believe it. Zena was too good to be mingling with someone like him. "GORDON, NO-"
A flash of light, and the world went black.

@stanlley
You forgot to add a deadline to your prompt :)
(I will definitely enter because that's some very nice music there)

@Egwu aa i am a big mess today apparently lemme go edit that - thanks for telling me ^^;

@Redtiger7736 do this or I'll take away your dragon privileges

His hand gripped mine tightly as he led me across the dance floor in a pace almost too quick for me to match. My chest rose and fell and I struggled to catch my breath, my cheeks flushed with the efforts to keep up with his movements and not make a fool out of myself. I looked up into his eyes and he smiled at me, his expression smug as he steered our movements.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time to accept his offered hand, but as soon as my skin had touched his I had felt something like a pulse of magic. It closed my hand around his so I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to, and it reached downwards, grasping my legs in inky tendrils and urging me to dance. Puppetry magic, that’s what it was. I could resist, if I wanted to be flung about like a ragdoll, but the secret to breaking the hold of this sort of magic was to embrace it. I could fight it, or I could dance with it to the best of my ability, and by the end, his spell would be broken.

I maintained the pace, matching each rhythm and beat of the song with gusto, throwing myself into the movements the way the dance was supposed to be performed. Around us the hall filled with applause at our show of passion, my red dress a stunning contrast against his black suit. He dipped me, and I saw a shadow pass behind his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to embrace it so completely. I didn’t think he had expected me to be able to dance at all. It was my turn to smile at him and I was rewarded with a flash of frustration, quickly smoothed back into neutral pleasantry. It wouldn’t do for the guests to see their Count flustered, after all.

I had been invited to the ball like every other eligible person of age in the city, but I had come for one reason only; to find out why I had met with so many sobbing women in recent days. They had all gone to see the Count for one reason or other, but they would not tell me any more than that, and I had been unable to offer any comfort to them. And so, I had come to see for myself what it was about this imposing man that reduced so many women to gasping tears. Dancing with him now, I was fairly certain I had found my answer.

My smile turned into a grin as I felt the inky tendrils of magic lose their grip on my legs, and I finished the dance with as much flourish as I could, curtsying to the audience even as the Count bowed. His grip tightened on my hand, ensuring I would not leave his side – not that it had been my intention to do so – and he led me from the ballroom and into his private offices. His stride had lost its careful ease and fluidity. It was uneven now – jaggered, even. He was having trouble holding in his anger. He didn’t like that I had beaten his spell.

The night was still young. I had all evening to foil his dastardly plans. My gait lightened, a new spring finding its way into my steps. Perhaps this night would be more fun than I had originally imagined. I did so love a good game of wills.

Getting in the spooky mood this month! Love me some music prompts.

---

He sat with a straight back, his thin lipped face staring impassively at the door. Long strands of shimmering white hair fell over his eyes, reflecting their eerie glow that seemed to shift between silver and hazy yellow. One black gloved hand rested on the cherry wood desk in front of him, the other tucked under his chin. He held one leg crossed over his knee, his sparkling black shoes glinting in the light. It almost seemed like the man could be dead, his pale skin, sharp edges, and perfect stillness giving away nothing.

Creatures danced around him, twirling their long manes of deep black, sparkling gold, bloody red, brilliant orange, soft blue, bright purple, and even iridescent white as they spun. Their long limbs were every shade of skin imaginable, and even some that weren’t. Boney elbows and wobbling knees were all to visible to him as their arms contorted and legs twisted in sickening ways.

A scream echoed around his ears, or was that a laugh? He couldn’t tell, but its high pitched tone reached his ears and stabbed a knife through his already aching head. A soft sigh escaped his pursed lips--the first sign of life--and his eyes drifted shut. The pounding music still sounded around him, begging his limbs to rise and dance to its song, but he did not. Instead, he sat. Still. Silent. Perfectly impassive.

The slam of a door brought the man from his mind, his eyes snapping open. Gone were the dancing figures, their emaciated frames and ethereal motions. Gone was the sturdy cherry wood desk, along with the stacks of paper on it. Gone was the black gloves he had grown to enjoy and the shiny black shoes.

Rousing himself from the depths of his mind, the man forced a half smile onto his face, the strained curl of his lips not impressing the finely dressed woman entering the room. It was a cinder block walled place, searingly white and all-too-claustrophobic for his tastes. The hard metal table in front of him matched perfectly with the steel chair he sat on. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead, aggravating the man's headache.

“I’m Detective Arinstien,” the woman said, her long black hair woven into well-kept dreadlocks, “Before we get started, have you been read your rights?”

“Miss Arinstien,” The man began, his voice hoarse to his own ears. It infuriated him, but he kept his annoyance to only a twitch of his eyes. “Perhaps you should ask the brutes that brought me in?”

“Detective, Sergeant Khatri, I am neither woman nor man,” The Detective stared hard at him, dropping a thick file onto the table between them, “Please, answer my question.”

Khatri stared for a moment, then sighed and rubbed his temples as he relaxed his posture, “Yes, I believe I was. Shall we begin?”

“Sergeant Khatri, are you aware of why we brought you in?”

“According to the brutes, I was caught at the scene of a murder. Frankly, I think that is a bit harsh but to each their own,” Khatri smiled serenely at them, a strange glint in his shifting hued eyes.

The Detective was not amused, a dark look crossing over their face. They pulled out a photo from the file, pushing it towards Khatri, “You were caught standing over the bodies of five people, including an honored member of the Senate. You were holding a scythe and humming to yourself, do you remember that?”

Khatri didn’t even glance at the pictures, “Your eyes are the color of a decaying body in the sun. Hazel, yet flecked with yellow and red. Interesting.” Khatri looked down at his hands, the blood stained skin confirming the story the Detective spoke of. His feet mirrored this, their soles covered in a layer of blood and dirt. The ragged dress pants were ripped up the seams to his knees--he did that with a pocket knife, though he couldn’t recall why--and seemed strangely mismatched to the soft, clean T-shirt emblazoned with a roaring dragon. He didn’t recall putting that on, but perhaps someone had lent it to him. “If you ever care to get rid of them, please tell me. I would enjoy them.”

The Detective seemed baffled, their eyes widening as Khatri watched them through his bangs. “My… my eyes?”

Khatri hummed, letting them digest his strange words that even he didn’t know the reason behind. Taking the momentary silence as confusion, Khatri closed his own eyes once again--perhaps I would like to see out of their eyes--and let his mind drift away from the obscene buzzing overhead and the cold metal beneath him.

The music began once again, quieter this time, and riddled with voices of another language. He could hear the tapping of feet again, the distant whooshing of hair flying through air tugging at the edges of his consciousness. Soft whispers of blood and death surrounded him, temporarily relieving him of the aching in his mind that pounded behind his eyes.

“Sergeant Khatri,” The Detective’s voice blared through the music, shattering the vaguely peaceful smile from his lips and replacing it with a deepening frown, “Sergeant Khatri, can you tell me what you were doing at the crime scene? Sergeant Khatri, listen to me. You were caught at the scene of a murder, covered in blood. I’m giving you a chance to explain, but that window is closing fast.”

“Kill her”

“Kill kill kill”

“Blooooooooo----murder”

“Murderer”

“Murderer”

“Murderer”

“They are neither man nor woman,” Khatri muttered to the voices around him, digging bloodied fingernails into his temples, “I do not need your advice.”

“Kill kill kill”

“They are weak”

“They deserve death”

“Sergeant Khatri? Mr. Khatri? Who are you talking to?” The Detective’s voice was far away now, the music growing louder and harsher. The voices would not be silenced.

“Kill kill kill”

“Reap their blood. Reap their soul.”

“A life means nothing without a death”

Khatri recognized one of them, the one that never spoke with the drawn out wispy endings the others did. They were final, they were a comfort, a direction. A friend. A smile once again graced his lips, and Khatri rose to his feet. Distantly, he saw the Detective move, but he cast them aside without a thought. Their rich chocolate skin was flecked with red now, and Khatri wondered if that was his doing.

He opened the door, lifting his scythe from its perch in the grasp of a young man. His eyes went wide with terror as Khatri raised his scythe, the blood soon splattering against the wall. The figures danced around him once again, their bright locks and nimble limbs all the more entrancing when he could join them. But he didn’t. He had things to do.

Khatri left the building, unaware of the bodies left in his wake. A soft hum sounded from his lips as he walked with even steps down the sidewalk. The warm rock beneath his feet was a welcome change from the cold metal of the small room. The figures glided around him now, their dancing having ceased when the music became audible to the world. Still, their faithful figures followed him, their murmurs for a dance of death reaching Khatri’s ears. They begged for more blood, more death and more destruction. They begged for Khatri to join them in their dance.

He would humor them. He always did.

@stanlley friendly reminder to choose the winner of this!

aah gosh im so sorry about that, everyone !! i had a family emergency (seriously the worst few weeks of my life luck-wise) but ive just read all your responses and theyre wonderful !!!

@GreatLordHades i really really love the denial christopher has, its definitely a very real feeling and hits close to home. i actually would love to read an expanded version, the story really intrigued me !! if you ever decide to write more about it do lemme know although i know i for one never write all that much lol

@Egwu short and sweet, i love it!! a bit of a twist with a cliffhanger leaving me dying to know the full story, im absolutely in love with your protagonist

@Redtiger7736 oooh, sergeant is one of my favorite types of villains, one who has no idea what theyre really doing c: i love the interaction between the two, and between the voices !! the description of the creatures was lovely :0 i kinda wanna draw them tbh

the winner is - egwu !
although you all had such amazing stories, i love them all !!! yall fit the song so well ;u; i am blessed

I'm glad you enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun writing the scene as I listened to the song~

Prompt: Wind.
Deadline: 14 October 23:59

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