Only in his darkest dreams does he crave what he most desires.
The land of Peloponnesus was the dwelling place for many peoples in Ancient Greece. It was made up of six major villages that flourished during the golden Age of Harmony. To the north was Patras, known for its markets and trade. To the west laid Olympia, it was known as Zeus’ most sacred place, a sanctuary for those who worshipped him and other gods on that magnificent mount. To the east was Mycenae, a Mecca for all to witness great advancements in culture. To the southwest was Pylos, known for its beautiful palaces and temples. A delight for those who sought understanding of the cosmos. To the southeast laid Sparta, famous for their fierce warriors and rigid societal values. In the very heart of Peloponnesus was the village of Arkadia, known for its bountiful harvests. It was in this village that a psychic lived the simple life of a farmer. He deemed having such a gift as a blessing from the gods he served, it enabled him to give freely of his assistance to all those who sought his help. However, being different spelled pain and strife for his fate. He saw the impure thoughts of a high-ranking member of the village and desired to help the man change his ways, thus outing him. For this, the psychic was sentenced to death by fire. As others with psychic abilities were found, they too were sentenced to the same fate, beginning the Wars of Origin. All of the other five major villages were pulled into battle and the fighting stretched on for so long, many forgot the original reason for such carnage and chaos in the first place. Death and destruction was all that became of Arkadia with all the blood spilled for sins committed against those that were different. It was a wonder that Arkadians held views like these against such peoples when they were surrounded on all sides by villages that worshipped multiple deities and were home to creatures of multiple kinds. The golden Age of Harmony came to a bitter end as such desecration spread in all directions. It seeped into the lands in the epicenter of Peloponnesus and beyond like a slow-acting poison transforming the region into a nexus with all the energies released by war. It lured many creatures and peoples alike toward those Arkadian ruins like a beacon, but only those that drew their powers from a morning star came to truly call it a home. Witches that called upon Lucifer as their supreme lord and power source erected new architecture and new effigies. They called this new age village, Edom.
It was in this village that a man named Steve came to be kneeling in the center of a pentacle he drew on the forest grounds a ways from his home. It was under a cover of darkness during the devil’s hour that the scent of ash, mixed with henbane and sage, filled his nose. Black flames rose into the air as scarlet wax dripped from his enchanted candles, the wooden wicks burning in the bewitched blaze. The winds whipped around him as earth and water reacted with the incantation he whispered over and over. The mantra became a force of its own as the natural energies swirled around him, prickling his spine, connecting with his soul. He could feel the magic from his core draining with every word he spoke, as if the power was flowing away from him through the palms he held, splayed, in front of him. Blood fell from his nose, burning a livid trail from his cupid’s bow and lips to his chin. He languished in pain, feeling sluggish from the exertion, as the inevitable became his reality. He wasn’t powerful enough for this kind of magic. It was a fact that he had been trying to avoid for awhile now. As a witch living in the village of Edom, he had been struggling to come to terms with how the coven he was a member of was run, how the powers were distributed, how worshipping their Dark Lord wasn’t fulfilling in the slightest. It was a wonder how being enthralled to a morning star didn’t seem to yield much for his magical prowess. After signing his name away in that infernal book, Steve didn’t necessarily feel much different. He understood where his magic came from, he understood his status within the coven, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when it meant he couldn’t do higher magic on his own. He didn’t hate his connection to the Dark Lord but he felt as if it was a hindrance. He had vivid dreams of what he felt like he should be able to accomplish. When those dreams clashed with reality, he felt a sense of bereft-ness that made him feel hollow inside.
Wiping his nose on his modest grey tunic, Steve gathered all the materials from his failed ritual. He stumbled a little before righting himself, tilting his head back to gaze at the moon that seemed to mock him. Breathing in deeply, the notes of copper from his own blood clashed with the ash of the doused black flames. The devil’s hour was over and done, the time for Black Mass was upon now him. It would not do for him to be late lest he incur the wrath of his master.
The Church of Shadows, the coven Steve’s a member of, was led by a charismatic man that used his words to sway the minds of many of the witches that listened to him during Black Mass. Steve, however, was not fooled by this Chad character. He annoyed Steve to no end, there were many times where he felt like he should just slit the man’s throat and make him the main course whenever it was his turn to provide the meal for the gatherings before the service. Such thoughts were heresy and he dared not think them for too long. Father Chad was chosen by the morning star to lead the coven, he couldn’t possibly make a move against him without starting an uproar and angering the High Priest’s most staunchest of followers. So, he sat in his seat on the church pew and did his best to listen to the sermon. It was at this moment though, that a peculiar presence made itself known to Steve. It was focused on his back making him sit up straighter in his seat. The sensation of being stared at was one he was accustomed to. He used to speak out during sermons when he was younger because he didn’t like something or wanted to come up with other ways to grow their power as a coven. He had painted a proverbial target on his forehead with such actions and since then, has been treated with contempt by the older witches. But this stare, this gaze that seemed so pointedly focused on him, was different. It felt heavy as if someone was heaping the world onto his shoulders. It felt constricting, as if someone with unmeasurable strength was compressing his body into a box only to be released to terrorize and raise hell. Turning abruptly to see just who was causing his distress, his jaw fell slightly allowing a small gasp to slip through his lips. There, in the back row, sat a peculiar stranger. Steve met the gaze head on, the owner of it being a man with piercing nordic blue irises, a shock of hair reminiscent of ground cocoa beans, and a frankly terrible piece of facial hair sitting on top of his upper lip. Steve raised an eyebrow when the man’s shoulders shook slightly in his seat on the back row. It was almost as if his thoughts were open and available to the stranger that held his stare. Turning back around to face the altar, he tried his best to shift his focus back to Father Chad’s sermon but his thoughts meandered back to the man with the piercing blue eyes.
“He waits dreaming of you.”
The words startled Steve. Father Chad’s mouth was moving but his voice wasn’t his own. It was deeper, the bass of it resonating with his soul. Steve’s heartbeat picked up, he could feel the telltale heat rising on his cheeks. Who could be waiting and dreaming of him? Steve knew he had a pretty face, something that had served his purposes well over the years but it wasn’t all there was to him. He had a desire to know more about the world, to learn and cultivate his powers without being held back by the master he served. The coven leader’s voice had since returned to normal, as he spoke about whatever topic the Dark Lord urged him to impart on the rest of the members, but Steve found that he still couldn’t concentrate. He felt off balance and his thoughts still swirled with curiosity about the mysterious man in the back row. Once the sermon was over, Steve went through the motions of the worship service. He partook of the unholy communion, sang the desecrated hymns, and prayed to Satan like everyone else in the room. His heart wasn’t in it though, and it hadn’t been for a long time. At the final conclusion of the service, the weight on his shoulders faded from his senses. Rising from his seat, he was about to go try and introduce himself to the strange visitor when the coven leader called out his name from across the room. He sighed before plastering a fake smile on his face.
“Father Chad, hello.” He greeted the priest as the man moved into his space.
“Stéfanos! I’m so glad I caught you, I just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. The feast was a success no thanks to you and the cuisine was so fresh, seasoned to perfection.” Steve had to keep from rolling his eyes, only his late parents called him Stéfanos. He always urged others outside of his family to just call him Steve. Alas, being a member of the Kempus bloodline always did come with a certain prestige within the Church of Shadows that he couldn’t get away from. What was the use in descending from greatness if he could barely tap into it? What good was it being proficient in his craft of creating such fine cuisine if all it got him was attention from creepy men?
“Thank you, sir, for the compliment. I always try to give my best to the church.” Father Chad’s answering smile was indulgent and a little disturbing most of the time, but tonight it seemed even more over the top. The man had a fixation on Steve and he couldn’t wait to be out of his presence.
“Perhaps I could glean some valuable lessons from you, you are a wizard in the kitchen.” Struggling to keep the disgust from his features, Steve merely nodded and smiled. It just wasn’t done to refuse the coven leader but he just knew Father Chad would try to make a pass at him. Ever since the man learned of Steve’s preference for both men and women, the wayward priest had been dropping hints that he could take care of Steve. That he would make it good, that there would be no pain when he took Steve for the first time. He was revolted each time the priest spoke those words or anything like them. He did not lay down for others in his bedchambers, he was always in control. Even if he did, Father Chad certainly wouldn’t be his first choice. The man wouldn’t even be in the running.
“I can let you know when I’m available, Father Chad. I must go now, there was a new witch visiting and I wanted to make sure he felt welcome.”
“Of course, my dear. Oh, and praise Satan.”
“Yes,” Steve mumbled, a strained grin pulling at his lips. “Praise Satan.”
He could feel the father’s gaze on his ass as he walked away and he hated it, almost as much as he hated uttering those infernal words. Praise Satan. Why should he when the power allotted to him by the morning star was dismal at best. Putting those thoughts out of his mind, he weaved through the other witches still in the building. Speaking here, mingling there, as he made his way to the back of the church. He frowned when he didn't see the stranger from before, did he miss him? Did the man leave already?
“Hi.” Whirling around, Steve came face to face with whom he was searching for. The man’s voice sounded familiar, it was deep as if it was coming from the below the earth’s crust. The words he heard during the sermon slithered their way back into his thoughts. He waits dreaming of you. The voice was similar in a way that disturbed him. It couldn’t have been coming from this stranger… right?
“Hi,” he said when he finally spoke up. He didn’t mean to sound so breathless, it wasn’t like he was running toward the back pew or anything. However, just being closer to this man sent his heartbeat racing. There was something about him that he couldn’t quite place. It left him feeling off kilter. Notes of sea salt from a fresh ocean spray and rust wafted into his nose as he shifted his eyes to that nordic blue gaze. A breath caught in his throat, looking into this man’s eyes was… an experience. As if he were to be staring into the arctic seas when the sun hits them at just the right moment. Nordic blue shifted, as tumultuous waters often do, to tempest grey before settling into the black of a bottomless abyss. It was as if he was peering into the trenches themselves. The longer he stared, blatantly as if caught in a snare, the more he could actually see. A peculiar castle rising in the murky distance, a city that seemed to sink into the bedrock of the ocean’s floor, flashes of oddly shaped creatures with barbed tails and talons that appeared to bend before what looked to be a man with tendrils seeping out of his body, writhing with the whims of the water currents. He was pulled out of this vision when the stranger blinked, his pitch black irises closing like that of a reptile before shifting back to nordic blue. Steve swallowed, the sound audible even to his own ears. “Are— are you new? I mean- how was your visit with us tonight? Did you like the sermon?”
Steve cursed himself. Of course the guy was new, he had never seen him before. He certainly would have remembered him if he had. Mr. Blue Eyes was a strapping specimen of a man with broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw line, sharp nose, tree trunk thighs that begged to be sat on, and muscled beyond belief. This stranger was definitely pushing some buttons he didn’t realize he had, despite that quiff that sat on his upper lip. He stood before Steve with confidence in his stance, the sheer amount of power that radiated off of him was staggering as well. It was obvious the man wasn’t from Edom, the witches here always felt the same to him. Their gaze tingled when it was turned on him. Their auras shrouded in pale blue light that spoke of his master’s origins. This witch’s gaze was another matter entirely, his aura was hidden from Steve, shrouded in shadows and tendrils of pitch that swayed in the corners of his sight, a seeming mirror to what he could have sworn he actually saw in the man’s eyes.
“I was just passing through when I heard the singing at the start of your service. It captured my attention so I figured I’d stop inside.”
Steve almost whined listening to him speak. The man’s voice was so smooth, the more he talked, the more it felt like it was only two of them in the sanctuary. Vaguely he could hear the conversations of other witches floating around him but he could focus on nothing more than the man before him. It was strange, Steve had never had a reaction so strong to anyone before. He was usually the one charming someone, luring them back to his bedchambers to experience his version of the cosmos. This was different, he just knew he wouldn’t be in control if he were to make a move on this witch and that scared him.“Well, singing is what we do best.” Really? Singing is what we do best? He couldn’t quite figure out what was going on exactly. He never spoke like this. Ever.
The man chuckled, the sound sending shivers down his spine. “I’m Lloyd.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lloyd.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Steve.”
“So not Stéfanos?”
“You heard that, huh?” He groaned. “Only Father Chad calls me that now but I prefer Steve.”
“Well, Stevie, the pleasure is all mine.” Lloyd gripped his hand, returning the handshake. The man’s skin was cool to the touch and strong, unyielding. The usage of Stevie was doing strange things to his belly, he could have sworn that there was something quivering in there that shouldn’t be because he rarely ever felt like this. He watched as Lloyd lifted his hand, in his frankly massive one, and placed a gentle kiss on his wrist. The sensation was odd. Lloyd’s lips were smooth and chilled, a direct contrast to the simmering warmth the kiss left in its wake. Steve was not easy to charm but he felt his cheeks heat up, a testament to his blush, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, at the very edge of his field of sight, he could just barely see something fluttering in and out of existence as his hand was still caught in Lloyd’s grasp. It was something black, it seemed to move with peculiar undulations and wave-like motions that he couldn’t think of another way to accurately describe. When he turned to look, he couldn’t see anything. It was different from the man’s aura, more reminiscent of the apparent vision instead, it felt heavier, darker than anything he had ever come to witness. When the skin that bore Lloyd’s kiss burned, as if it was put off by not having Steve’s attention, he shifted his gaze back to the man before him.
“I’m not usually one for community,” Lloyd said releasing his hand. “But I might find myself persuaded to make another appearance if you’ll be here.”
“I’m not always in the village.” Steve tucked a wayward lock of his hair behind his ear in his efforts to sound nonchalant, his throat working around that bold faced lie. He never failed to miss Black Mass. “Perhaps we’ll still be able to cross paths.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” He watched as Lloyd turned on his heel, winking as he looked back over his shoulder. “See ya around, Stevie.”
Steve took a moment to steady his still-racing heart. He berated himself for being taken so quickly with a pretty man, a man that could surely swallow him whole if given the chance. He was not used to reacting like this to anyone. Meeting Lloyd both thrilled him and terrified him. There was something about the man that, although made his blood run hot with desire, still sent the sensation of being held down by the weight of oceans through him. Shivering slightly, he made for the exit. His meat supplies were dwindling quicker than usual and he needed to get more. Rolling his shoulders back, he left the church building. It was time to hunt.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
