Somewhere Someplace

Large and wide, such was this space, this sphere, of rubble and darkened rock; vast enough and empty of noise besides the sounds of drip-dropping water. Strange bioluminescent plantforms and fungi provided some light within the shrouding darkness, revealing debris and ruins of bygones; eroded buildings different and alien from known customs, long rooted into which were purplish luminescent vines. At the very top of this sphere of a chamber was a thing most strange; blackened and wilted, unseen from the strange violet mist so thin, within which yet was a stranger hum unheard by ears—a resonance though not by sound.

The chamber-scape around was 'bumpy' and deformed, with protrusions and 'hills' of rock, unnatural in appearance as if having been sprung out by command. Skeletons and pieces, corroded weapons and rotted armor, wooden contraptions long devoured beyond identity, arrowheads scattered about. A battle had happened here, long-long ago—the lingering remains of which were intact enough though much having decayed with time, without even a scream or echo left behind.

Although this pocket of subterranean space seemed isolated from allwhere else, it was not. For the streams of water above, whence the dripping drops so fell, flowed and rushed. Ancient aqueducts and canals constructed to once supply water to those below long siphoned by those above, turned into sewers.

The connections had long thought to have been sealed and collapsed. Things above could not venture below; things below could not venture above. Yet none had ever dared to test or discover, for it was forbidden—by whom, none knew… Passed on through generations.

Nothing above should go below.

Nothing was even below.

A hollow. A hole. A deep crater, a tear, in this fallen sphere; perhaps the product of an explosion or a spell of destruction. Anything caught within had long ceased to exist, leaving no remains or residuals behind. Yet within this crater were dozens of corpses. Corpses neither primeval nor ancient, but recent—relatively. Rotting and putrid yet somehow still preserved, although many were nearly skeletal. They formed an almost pile—'almost', for a pile implied a sense of organization and there was no 'organization'.

It was sloppy.

Perhaps even sloppier, however, was it, or 'he'… who so slobbered over the freshest and most recent of them; ravenously and rabidly, salivating as his horribly long tongue licked, his erected fangs having bitten more times than necessary, yet having torn no flesh or piece; for he was not eating even if he had devoured. His long and sharp jaws would almost be 'attractive', were it not for the fact they could expand in ways they ought to not. His ears were long—longer than even an elf's. His skin was a deathly pale; his hair, a darkly turquoise blue.

A nude savage in most ways. What he was precisely doing to that victimized corpse—uniformed and with a distinct amulet, ripped and torn in both cloth and flesh—needed not be described.

It was self-explanatory.

This specimen tended to…relish…in his victims for a prolonged period of time well after their deaths, until the rot became too much and he would be compelled to seek another; though, for reasons only logical to him himself, he always kept their thumbs. This one was not exclusively driven by that decaying hunger, for his…extended actions belonged to no ritualized procedure of devoration or extraction—which had already happened.

This specimen was something different, in mind. A monster, in heart.

«A necrophiliac freak; a serial killer, rapist, and stalker. Perfect.» She grimaced, almost, whilst gazing down into the crater. «Five, ten, fifteen…twenty… Hm. Thirty? Excessive. Each are the same profession, so he has a specific taste.» Her voice was quiet enough to be unheard by the engrossed savage, her presence a nothingess unfelt even if materially real. «He will be challenging. He seems pathologically maddened; motivations obsessive and irrational—Oh, and never mind a bloated contaminator whose bite I can feel from here… There is a nasty eminence around.» She could almost sigh… «I really must wonder… Your tastes, Oceans.»

This 'she' nevertheless stepped forth and slid down effortlessly into that crater, a trail of contaminated dust and rock following with her.

"Salutations, horrid beast." she merely greeted as her heels so stepped and stepped, forward and forward.

And the…preoccupied savage turned his purplish outlined eyes, his pupils narrowed and focused. He showed his fangs with a territorial snarl.

"I mean not to interrupt your…activities." Her voice was one so strange; soft and mellow yet rusted and stern. "I have come to talk."

"…talk?" and the horrid beast so spoke. In a sudden shift, his elongated fangs retracted into his gum as if becoming flaccid; ending his…preoccupation, he stood himself up, his back cracking as his posture straightened upright from his beastly hunch. He fetched his collection of belongings neatly fashioned next to his…other collection.

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With a rag, he…cleaned himself of the decomposites. With a comb, he adjusted his hair, which was spiked and almost elegant—handsome. He adorned a sort of towel as if it were a toga, worn neatly. He bit a mint and put on a pair of spectacles…

Before, with a smile,
"And whom might you be, sweetest dear?" He so respectfully bowed.

What was perhaps more terrifying about this specimen was not even with what he had been doing, but his almost seamless transition from savage mindlessness to an almost deceptively civilized elegance.

She giggled gently; "Nothing in particular."

He let out a large and expansive breath with a rumble in his upper lip that almost seemed like a purr. "You… You are so appetizing in appearance." He licked his retracted fangs, relaxing. "Please, do come closer and be not afraid. I know you are not afraid." His voice was so soft yet hard; a most perfect of balances that captured with its allure and attracted with its charm; a persuasiveness almost surreal, for the actual words he spoke mattered little, for the manner conveyed was more than sufficient to ensnare.

With that outlined purplish glow in his irises which so caught, listening to his innately charismatic voice was in itself a cognitive hazard, especially to those whose souls—essences—spent most time inactive and dormant. However, such was not entirely due to exotic effects, for to speak was to release breaths, and his carried allomones that tempted and charged.

Yet feeling unafraid, she stepped even closer, docile and relaxed though hardly charmed. If anything, the way she stood and the way she walked was one of control. And this made him increasingly perturbed as she drew closer, a feeling he himself barely experienced within. She paused close enough to him that she could make out his breaths, which were almost unnaturally fresh and pleasant to the nose despite him having slobbered all over a rotting corpse.

Such was not merely from a measly mint, but rather his saliva itself which contained aromatic compounds and cleansing enzymes, never mind also a sedative relaxant whenever the fangs were erect.

"You are…" he began to speak, showing no courtesy as he chivalrously stroked her cheek, "so pretty, I dare to say… With skin so clean and soft and eyes so vibrant… A man could fall into disarray." His focused eyes, however, began to turn aside… "Strange, I feel, for reasons I know not… Hunger subsides, your presence…something else." There were small flickers in his outlined irises, though no significant change or shift… "I fall dizzy from this thought."

"And your presence is a rust and blighting bite, though much lesser upon me. A voice that can entrap and eyes that can attract… My, so bloated, how well fed you seem to be." she simply replied. "A vampire, most would say. Though you seek not blood but souls, and your tastes scream loud. Guild receptionists are your prey."

"Flowery your voice may sing. It pulls hearts, but none my own; it matches not the hum." Yet he then began to realize, certainly… "Or, no… Like a dog, perhaps it is I who was captured by your bell's ring…" He stepped back, realizing effects were befalling him and not her.

"Ah-hah." Her jester smile was almost grotesquely wide, withholding the most belittling of laughs. "So realizes the beast, stepping back from his beauty: this be not his feast."

"Who, no… What are you, venom with sweetness' taste? Would you tell me, at least?" His breaths tensed though he remained calm, incapable of being overly fearful though something deeper within him was certainly disturbed.

"Just a gal—a woman and lady. Old but so young with ears both pointy and sharp. I listen to words and spread them far… A voice that plays like a mellow harp." she softly said. "You and I are much the same. I too have fangs, though inert they are… For I play a different game."

Indeed, she had 'fangs' as canines though reduced. Her ears, pointy albeit much less so than an elf's and especially his; her hair, a lightish black; her eyes, capturing; irises, radiantly outlined. Yet she wore a commoner dress with her hair fashioned slightly to accommodate her commoner hood. A girl almost unexceptional and unremarkable, yet she was more like him: a monster, though of a different kind. Not a product of nature's selection nor a product of a soul twisted by faltered environments and aggravated trauma: she was created, produced, to be exactly what she was.

"No scent, no aroma… A nothingness…" His breaths almost snarled… "You are nothing."

"Yet also something." She stepped closer.

And he stepped back with a scowl, displaying fangs with a growl. "I see. You are so promiscuous. However, you are nothing royal nor appetizing… A taste fresh but not delicious." He then grinned; "Heh, a little girl so bold who delights in her jest… But you know not the power I hold."

"And you know not the abyss you behold." she replied, plainly. "A grim walker, you are; a beastly breed so rare, of not tree but cave. One such as you that has stalked and walked for so long above… Do not think you were never seen by our grave." She smirked. "And what he and she sees… A little king bee without his queen, so trapped by past torment and adversity. Motives driven not by hunger, but fetishized ire. Memories' webs twisted to project onto likened others. Power, vengeance, and gratification thus you desire."

"You know nothing of me!" he snarled, provoked; "I relish in their souls; I relish in their beings and flesh so worn. Your soul, a sweetly poison without taste, I need not devour. What makes you think I shan't simply relish in your body so borne?" His voice was predacious.

"From victims, fables tell, you grim walkers are born." she began to say, unphased; "Father unknown, mother implanted and forced to bear. To be the first meal, thus was to be her fate. I, however, am different… I require at least a first date."

"An outing? Ha! You have come here to me… If I cannot devour you, I shall breed you… Yes. I have been in need… And while your aroma is sickening, your body is ripe."

"Yet flaccid remains your pipe." she noted with a tittering grin so terribly wide that she barely tried to hide. "Behold, the predator stands afar. For he knows to approach may cause a swipe."

"Ah… Ahah… I understand. I see now…" His breaths realized; "A reader of mind…"

"No, simply briefed by the divine." yet she so replied.

"Heh… Oracle, you so claim…" He growled. "Yet your horrendous smile bears that of a tricks' maker."

"Ah-hah. Well…" She approached closer. "A maker I am, you see. But of deals. A dealmaker."

"Dealmaker…?"

"Yes.." Her radiant gold outlined eyes pierced as if carrying Calamity into his own. "And I came not hither to be bred or made a meal. I come not with tricks or throwing bricks. I am here to render a deal."