REMEMBER, THIS STORY IS NOT A TRANSLATION, IT IS AN ORIGINAL NOVEL WRITTEN BY THE COMMANDER OF EXILED REBELS SCANS, ADDIS, FOR FUN.
PLEASE DO NOT SPREAD THIS NOVEL TO OTHER SITES.
My hand was beginning to go numb against my cheek, my fingers cold from the pressure of my clenched fist. With the rain streaking against the dark, I couldn’t see out the window. It would take only three hours to arrive at my destination. I could see my reflection in the glass. Short dark brown hair almost black in color, large hazel eyes that changed to different hues depending on my surroundings. I was often told as a child that I looked like a girl. Most people usually laughed at me when I told them that I was actually a guy. Even though I was twenty years old, I was still short compared to most men. You could put a wig on me and I could probably pass as a girl. I currently had the worst expression on my face. It looked almost like a scowl and sob combined. It was actually rather ugly.
Huh…maybe I should fix that…
Then I remembered where I was, and the scowl stayed put.
Those three hours felt like forever, and forever, where I was going, was not the amount of time you would wish to stay. Or so I was told.
Only twenty more minutes, I reminded myself. Twenty more minutes and I would be there.
I sighed, taking my numb hand away from my cheek and shaking it out. The woman sitting in the seat across from me laughed aloud, her eyes glittering with blatant mischief.
“Your first time, dear?” She asked, her hazel eyes flashing lightning white before turning back to a normal brown. I hated to be called dear by someone who looked younger me, but her kind always looked young. For all I knew, she could be older than my great-grandmother; she had that ageless look about her. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, leaving her pale, expressive face clear for all to read.
She wore a tight red halter, no bra from what I could tell and tight black jeans scrubbed white from use in some places. She also wore thigh-high leather stiletto boots; they were almost a grey color, lighter than her jeans. Now her eyes were a normal color, a human color, not the bright white, deep red, or neon yellow of her kind.
I tried to smile and failed. “First time, and I wish my last.” I thought about what I said and, realizing that this was her home, quickly apologized. The woman just laughed her wicked, cheery laugh that sent shivers down my spine.
“It is okay, dear. The first time is always the worst, as your kind says.” My kind. It wouldn’t end well if I told her that she was also my kind, that somewhere along our family trees, we shared the same ancestor.
I turned back towards the window only to realize that sometime during that short conversation, the conductor had pulled the line that dropped blinders along all windows.
There were reasons for the blinders, but I could never remember them. One of the main reasons was so outsiders couldn’t find their way back when they left. On the other hand, as some people said, the blinds were there so you couldn’t find your way out. I looked up at the woman; she grinned, closed her eyes, breathed in deep, and watched my reaction for the station call.
“Now arriving at…,” a warm, automated female voice announced.
“Tartarus Station.” An automated male’s voice finished.
The woman across from me laughed, it turned into a malicious sound, her eyes changing to that unearthly white, her hair changing to a deep red. Her body seemed to stretch until she was tall and thin with black horns resting on the crown of her head, a narrow tail curving around her waist like a belt. She grinned, showing razor sharp teeth and a forked tongue.
I was now in Hell.
Four Hours Earlier
“What do you mean I have to go to Tartarus?” I screamed at my mother. She stopped the rhythmic clicking of keyboard keys, twined her fingers together and looked at me with her large hazel eyes. She sat on a light colored wooden stool with her feet dangling above the floor. Her dark brown hair rested on her shoulder, her lips a thin line of displeasure. I looked like an exact copy of her, except I was male.
“Don’t take that tone of voice with me, Keiran. I am your mother, young man, and you will treat me with respect.”
“Just because I love you, doesn’t mean I have to like you, mother,” I sneered. Her eyes widened slightly, a tick of anger appearing in her jaw.
“Like has nothing to do with this, it has to do with love.”
“Love? Mom, you’re asking me to do the impossible. I can’t love a man I’ve never met. How do you even know that he’s my father?” She sighed, ran a hand through her short hair, glanced quickly at me before looking away just as fast.
“I know.” She whispered in a defeated tone making her sound small and child like. I resisted the urge to sooth and comfort her as I always did.
“You want me to go to Tartarus, to Hell, to meet my father who you told me was dead!” I was almost screaming now, I was furious that she had kept this from me. I was furious with her; with all the years, she had used and abused me like I was her slave. I was fed up with everything.
“For twenty years you’ve lied to me! You told me he got into a car crash and died and now you want me to stay with him? A man, a demon, I don’t even know. A man you only knew for a few hours before you could no longer resist the urge to drop your pants and fuck like rabbits!” She flinched and I felt no remorse. It was either her, or me, and right now, I wanted her to feel my pain.
“How long do you want me to stay?” I seethed, my fists clenching and unclenching.
“A month,” the being that donated an egg to my life whispered, staring at the floor. I breathed in deeply through my nose, letting it out slowly the same way.
Calm, I reminded myself, you need to stay calm or else bad things happen.
To reinforce that fact, the skin on my arms turned hot and rippled then darkened, revealing intricate swirls and patterns the darkest of ebony. My mother grimaced at my now inked skin. She should have been used to it by now. I was a half demon with mage blood, what did she expect?
My skin rippled again, the tattoos quivering with the anger running through my veins. One of the tattoos on my right arm continued to quiver after the others stopped. It felt like I had a snake under my skin trying to escape. It was a creepy feeling. I rubbed my right arm with my left hand, touching the tattoo in a motion similar to calming a cat or dog.
The tattoo stilled.
For some reason, whenever I feel an intense sensation, my skin adopts random patterns becoming intricate tattoos. The tattoos held magic; some of them even seemed to have a life of their own. It brings a completely new perspective on being controlled by your emotions. My mom calls it being inked by my emotions.
I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and envisioned my tattoos sinking through my skin to settle on my bones where no one but me could see them. I could feel my emotion draining with the tattoos. Hiding my emotions was a skill I had to learn to deal with my mother or else she would drive me insane.
When I opened my eyes, my mother was looking everywhere but at me, that was Janice D’Arrow. Always tries to avoid confrontation but is usually the one who creates it.
“When do I leave?” I asked, still seething inside. Janice glanced at her hands, looked at her fingernails as if she was deciding what color to paint them and muttered her answer. “What was that?”
“Today.” She said only slightly louder. Okay, maybe I wasn’t so calm anymore.
My skin more than rippled now, it literally ripped open, the ebony ink from my tattoos swirling and converging to cover every inch of skin. I could feel the ink now. It had a texture and quality that made me want to sigh. The ink made me feel complete.
My mom was no longer sitting. She had jumped from her chair and was now running across the living room as fast as she could. She tripped a few times trying to reach the front door. I couldn’t blame her, I was one scary bastard when my skin turned completely black.
I knew, inside, that the tattoos were my demon side expressing itself. The powers that had slowly grown over my lifetime since I was nine had become the bane of my existence. There I could lay the blame for my nightmares, my fears and a knowledge I had never wanted. Yet, at the same time, I knew they had saved my life countless times.
Whenever my tattoos took over my appearance changed completely. Usually, when I am calm, my eyes are a hazel grey with black speck on my irises. My hair is crew cut short and a color close to brown though it has too much black in it to be considered a real brown.
When my demon side takes over, everything changes. My hair turns the deepest black imaginable; it has no other tones hidden in its thick folds. My eyes turn so dark, my mother once said that she thought she was looking straight into the pits of hell. My skin completely covers with tattoos, my pale tones nowhere to be seen.
My nails begin to elongate, the tips as sharp as a blade. My ears change shape and become pointed as if I was an elf. In this form, everything loses color. Everything becomes insignificant. In this form, I am the epitome of evil. It was no wonder my own mother was running from me. It was apparent why she was sending me to Tartarus. I could no longer control myself around her or anyone else in this realm.
I looked at her, still struggling to open the door. How would I feel if I accidentally killed her in this form where no emotions could reach me? Would I feel a backlash of emotion when I changed back? Would I even remember?
I didn’t want to take any chances.
“When, Mother?” I asked quietly. She froze, her body acting like it was a rabbit caught in a snare. She turned to look at me, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes wide and frightened.
“Pa-Pe-Perry Station.” I watched her answer me. I felt no remorse. She had brought this on. I took a step forward and she screamed, covering her head and squatting in a position as if I would hit her. I snarled, she flinched, whimpering.
“Goodbye, Mother.” I growled, not caring, not feeling, just—being.
Gathering my clothing, and packing it in a suitcase was rather soothing. Sitting on my bed, folding my pants, my shirts, my socks precisely and setting them in my suitcases evenly made me feel in control. It made me think of all of the years my mother ordered me around, all the years she controlled me. And I had let her.
I put my own feelings aside and let her pull the strings. I let her decide where I was going to go to school, which friends I had, who I would date. She controlled me as if my life was her own, like I was her second chance.
Now I wish I had stood up for myself, stood up for the things I believed in. When I had learned about my father, I wish I had gone to see if he had any siblings, if I had a grandmother or grandfather. Then maybe I would have found out he was still alive. I couldn’t do anything about the past, all I could do was escape the now so I had a better future.
If my father is capable of love, unlike my mother, I don’t know if I could return to her. I might just stay in Tartarus until I find my own place to live, my own life to live.
The tattoos faded away with every minute away from my mother. My skin tingled with magic, I could smell it and when I breathed in, I breathed in magic. I sighed. How I loved magic, it calmed even better than folding laundry.