Shapeshifter -Part I-

She kissed me, telling me goodbye for the last time. My soul felt less worn this time; perhaps I could finally be free from this pain I kept injecting myself with. But I loved her, and this game that we played. I loved it because she had no idea... Or I loved it because of how much I loved her. Perhaps I just loved the chase? Or the world was just cruel enough to relieve me of being a masochist while also making me love to self-afflict. What I do know is this: I both loved and hated the stab of the knife of rejection under my skin, over and over again; It was that she left me again, but also gave me a chance for a new beginning. I knew this wouldn't be the last time. It couldn't be, because we were meant to be together.

I was put here to love her, this goddess among mortals, and I would stop fucking up long enough to grow old with her. Or at least, to watch her grow old, her hooded eyes growing matured crow's feet and her glistening hair streaking silver... Something about my interest in her both terrified and excited me. The idea of her aging, well... It made my heart beat out of my chest and my skin tingle up from my feet to my head. And she would love me for what I am... I hoped that one day, this mysterious force within me that made me different from others would be what put me ahead in the race to her heart.

I looked up at the sky and realized... In seven days she would be 40 years old. Forty, and still looking like she could kick my ass at the drop of a stone. Most people would never catch my eye for a moment past the age of 24, but her... Somehow the more she aged, the more alluring her scent; the more wise she became, the more I yearned to listen to her clear, dominating thoughts. In my ever-expanding life I have never once laid eyes upon a human of her caliber. I grinned wide with a tantalizing shiver up my spine as I thought of how spectacular she was.

And yet there we were, saying goodbye for the sixth time. I was standing all alone in my house, the empty air weighing heavily on my mind after she left, and with a start, my determination kicked in. My heart beating faster, I looked to my left at the entryway wall.

I stared at myself in the mirror, wiping unfamiliar tears from my chiseled cheekbones. My long, thick, strawberry blonde hair framed my pointed chin and smokey eyes flawlessly. A look of determination crossed my eyebrows and I resolved to never let this happen again, for the sixth time. I marched over to the bathroom wall, knocked on it once, then twice, then three times and slid the falsity to the side with conviction. The loud crack of the false wall splitting was registered but didn't startle me, as I was too busy hearing my raging thoughts echoing in my ears and heart. With a slap, I firmly hit my palm upon the wood, sliding along the blisters and leaving a trail of perfectly crafted wood underneath. And there it was in its handcrafted glory, my black, wooden, mysterious box. Picking it up carefully, I breathed in its heavenly aroma of old polish mixed with an unidentifiable odor. This was what hope smelled of, and I carried it to the kitchen table.

Taking a deep breath, I gently but firmly pressed in the symbols on each face in the correct order, making a click sound with each impress. The cover flew across the room and hit the wall with a bang and crashed to the floor. I flipped the box over and passports, licenses, birth certificates, credit cards, and social security cards clattered against the polished cherry. Six of each sat on the table, and I could practically hear the personalities murmuring in my head, a little too clearly. I shuffled through the documents and the voices became louder, and clearer. 

"How could you do this to her?" asked Vincent, who had been dead for 15 years. 

"You monster. What is wrong with you?!" yelled Brielle, who had been dead for 5. 

"I WILL KILL YOU." said a familiar but unidentified demonic growl, as my mind felt like it was stabbed through with an ice pick. 

They each hounded me, one by one, beginning to overlap each other until I couldn't understand what any of them were saying and they were so loud that I collapsed with my hands covering my ears. I had heard them all before, but that demonic growl hit me even harder than last time.

"YOU FIEND!!"

"MONSTER!!!"

"ABOMINATION!!!"

I crumpled like tissue paper as they tortured me, scraping at my eyes, my chest, my brain... I yelled at them to stop, let me be in peace, that it was all my fault and I was sorry... I could feel them tearing at my memories, biting and scratching at my emotions and the rational parts of my brain... I sobbed loudly as I felt dreams and nightmares once remembered, slipping away as if they were smoke escaping a leaking chamber. 

After what seemed like an eternity, I came into consciousness again around 3:00 A.M. I found myself on the plush carpet of my bedroom closet, in the pitch black, feeling as though I had drunk nothing but rum for a week straight. My mouth feeling like sand but tasting like bile, I apparently had vomited. I made the mistake of feeling my chest, which was covered in a green and brown substance liquid, and tried to stand. Holding on to the hanging rod, I clumsily pulled myself up and felt the sharp pain of dehydration mixed with a healthy dose of malnutrition within my body. However, it did not matter... It was all for her. It would all be worth it in the end.

I grabbed for myself some water from the fridge and sipped the cool, icy poison slowly. To my surprise once again, it did in fact make me feel a little better. I then stuffed a slice of whole wheat bread into my mouth and ate it with ferocity before staring at the table again. I had a couple of options available, but which one would give me the best chance?

Slowly picking up a white drivers' license from the table, I thoughtfully scratched my chin with my other hand.

"Annabelle Chevalier. Sounds like a good enough name to me. And it'll have to be. If it's not, only the Gods know that you're dead anyway." I snatched up the driver's license, the birth certificate, and the social security card. I even took the passport, just in case. 

Stakeout

    Rich winced at the sloppy enchantment the goth band wannabe tried (and failed) to direct over the girl he had been stalking since 11:45PM while she was bar hopping with her friends. This had been his fourth attempt to use magic to lure her away, and every time, the girl's unbending willpower had torn the magic to shreds. Since Rich had been stalking the stalker since 11:00PM, he was getting tired of evidence gathering and the rookie who had been sticking to him like melted chocolate on shag rug all night.

     "So, is he like, a real vampire?" Asked Mitch, the aforementioned tag along. "Are real vampires even, like, real?"

     Rich sighed, tempering his irritation with the bonus this particular job granted on his paycheck, and gave Mitch a side glance. He was nothing to really look at; dangerously thin and short with strait black hair and smart square glasses, the skinny jeans, messenger bag, and black tee (giant white letters screaming NERD across his chest) gave the impression he had googled his fashion sense into being after being a gigantic DnD nerd had been popularized.

     There were a lot of people like him in the Special Circumstances Division, people who though sheer accident or blundering intent gained enough magical power to garner the Magi Groups attention. Very few with the ability to push their gifts passed "It's just this weird thing I can do." Mitch was one of the very few who seemed like he could truly become a mage, hence why the Magi had 'requested' Rich to take him on a low level task, to find a fake vampire that has put three women in the hospital.

     "No, goth-head just thinks he is... Some dick taught him enough Enchantment, Biothurgy, and Transmutation to make him believe that he is. A real vampire doesn't use magic like us living folk." Rich replied, his sentence elongated as his scholarly half took over. " And yes, vampires are real. But their queen has a hard core screening process so there aren't that many running about."

     "Cool," the lore nerd beside him said, soaking up the information like a sponge. It was one of the few things about this mission that made it slightly more tolerable for Rich. "So, whats the plan? Do we have enough evidence to take him down?"

     The seasoned mage snorted. "I suppose so, Mitch. I hope you're ready to play hero because I have a plan."

=OvO=

    Malciour, (real name Malcolm) had finally found someone to feed upon. She had appeared almost magically after he had reached the boiling point with this one woman who stubbornly ignored everything he threw at her. But this one fell into his hold quickly, his power finding purchase in her mind like the ergonomic handle of a knife. He had planned on bringing her back to his place, taking his time before burying his fangs in and draining her of enough life essence to feed himself and his Master. It was getting late, and prey would begin to dwindle the closer it came to sunrise. He thought of the rumor among the ranks of 'Vampire Hunters' attacking those of his brood.

     He knew he would be fine, as he was of the 'first' generation, having grown into a true vampire where others of his generation had failed and sunk into mortal obscurity. He had more power than the underlings of the newer generation; No talent with glamours, and having to use what mundane tricks they had in their previous life to get them by. They were unlike him, dragging his prey down the alleyway, stress from the previous prey melting away as he cornered the giggling fool...

=OvO=

    Mitch was worried, but then again Mitch had always rode the line between just being worried and full blown panic attacks for most of his life. It started with him being worried about how he would be mocked about his messenger bag, seemingly cheap leather etched with odd symbols his aunt has gifted him. But when he found out one pocket was seemingly endless and the other could conjure three items per day (simple things, like food and figurines) he stopped giving a shit about the nonexistent bag jokes made in his expense.

     He was now worried about Rich's plan, as it involved him taking out a crossbow and shooting a man in the heart with it. His attention was caught between listening to the explanation of this plan and Rich summoning a being made of clear melted plastic that quickly morphed into a beautiful stereotypical horror movie-victim woman(A mimic, Rich would later explain to him).

     "Why do I have to do this?" Mitch watched the mimic go bouncing off, getting ready to run into the 'vampire'.

     "Because, it will notice me gathering enough power to hit him, while you can just pull a crossbow out." the mage said, watching as the 'vampire's' simple charm stuck to the equivalent of an animated doll. "Plus his body has been altered, his 'Master' made sure his minions can regenerate and have a cluster of nerves right above their hearts in case he needs to assert his dominance."

     "How the fuck do you know all that?" the young nerd asked.

     "Because we are but one pair of grunts working toward cleaning the dregs of a larger problem." Rich motioned him closer. "Now get ready he's on the move."

     The vampire eagerly led his 'prey away from the busy club and down the streets, traffic and security cameras growing scarce until he turned into a darkened ally. With a nod from his supervisor, Mitch reached into his bag and focused. His hand grabbed hold of something and he pulled it free, a modern carbon crossbow, a bolt already loaded. It was a lot heavier than he imagined, and he began to worry as he had never actually fired one of these outside of the realm of pen and paper.

     He didn't have that much time to really think it over as a shout echoed off the grimy walls. "What the fuck?!" Malciour screeched as his prey melted like cheap ice cream the moment tooth touched skin.

     " Now!" Rich shouted loudly, making the pale, sharp-toothed human to turn about with higher than average speed.

     Mitch steeled himself and aimed as best he could, praying video games had at least helped him get this stance half right, and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew threw the air with a hiss, before lodging itself directly into the artificial vampires knee. He howled in pain and dropped like a sack of bricks, clutching the wound as his still human brain was clouded by shock. Mitch was kept from being shocked himself by Rich's burst of laughter. "Oh my god, you just knocked over fake-ula with a Skyrim meme!"

"I don't know how to fucking aim a crossbow dude!" He shouted back indigently, watching as the still laughing mage produced a wooden dagger and a cellphone from his pocket.

     "YOU SHOT ME!" Screamed Malciour, still not registering what was going down as Rich approached. " WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!"

     "A lot," Was Rich's reply as he stood over the man made monster, and shoved the dagger into the cluster of nerves just above his heart.

     It was rather instant, one moment he was screaming and in the next his whole body was paralyzed, seized up in his current position and unable to move. Rich took a few photos before texting them and their location to their handler. Mitch sat down on the curb, crossbow carelessly tossed to his side.

     "That was...anticlimactic." he said after Rich joined him in sitting.

     "Yup." Was the reply.

     "Is it always like that?" Rich scratched his chin thoughtfully, " When it comes to magic," he began, "mages new to the game think that there is some unwritten code of honor among them, that magic will be the only weapon used to fight one another. Hell even some seasoned mages believe this. But there are those who are wise enough to exploit this. Your opponent is prepared for you to throw magic and monsters at them, not tear gas and stun batons."

     "Yeah, but we used magic to capture him." Said Mitch.

     "We used a little bit of magic yes, but in the end an arrow to the knee and a sharpened wooden prop knife is what got him in the end." Rich replied, chuckling. "If he wasn't a woefully under educated grunt then things would of been more interesting."

Mitch pulled open his bag and produced two cans of soda from a 12 pack he had put in, the inter-dimensional pocket kept things at just the right temperature. he handed one off before opening his.        

    "So, I dunno if I want to work for the Magi's..." he finally said.

     " Understandable," replied Rich, rolling the can in his hands.

     " I would suggest taking up some of their magic courses. Those bags only work if you've got a little bit of magic in you."

     "Why? I have my magic bag what more could I need?" he looked over to the grinning mage.

     "Well, I know an Illusion major who runs some seriously kick ass DnD Games."

N'yarlathotep (God Slave)

Power dripping from your
Cosmic, hypnotic eyes
Smells of rotting chaos,
Entropy, fear, passion...

Desire is a siren
Eating away my fears
Waving away all those
Reasonable concerns

Versus my own instincts
Seduced by the nightmares
Desire chews, gnaws, swallows
Awful sights beholden

Pharoah King awaits me
Draws the rope, I comply
Aeons of spirit gape
Witnessing the contracts

Most left unmet by ink
Papers speaking untold
Unable to sign myself
Away completely still

Hills speak, deserts cry here
Exploring gathers doubt
Sights beyond the real, though
Familiar somehow

Blinking, crowned jewels appear
Upon your lying head
Sandstone and marble, quartz
Smoothly line your castle walls

Sentences flood my brain
Thoughts chained to words, to mind
Sirens blaring, in-conceived
Half of what they used to be

Tongue more elegant, sharp
Stabs the flesh that rebels.
Rewards the brain that speaks
For the strange being now

Intellect decreasing.
In-comprehended voice,
Vocals to your music,
Nightmares and the screaming

Untold horrors hidden
Incomprehensible
Voice escapes my quick mouth
Not understanding the words

Shutting down now, help me?
Can not make a small sound
Space and time abandoned
Me and all of my soul

To this dream I now live
Trapped, caged, in this body
Always yearning, can't leave
But can not stay much more

Kill me, for I'm enslaved
If you can hear me, please
Losing all of myself
Into the black abyss

Its black nothing staring
Into me as I once did
Into its inky depths
Eyes rolling back in time

The Peculiar Story of Darla Deen

  Darla Deen was always keen that she was not like other infants. She hardly ever cried, and her parents never saw why, since the Fey and a long passed cat kept her company. And At night some Folk would say the Moon Doe would lay, by her sill and sing sweet lullaby.
  Darla Deen was always keen that she was not like other six year olds. When most her age were content to play with inanimate clay, she made it move and dance. To add to the oddities, ravens kept her company, seeking favor by scaring bullies away. And then one day, when all the strangeness got in the way, a man from a odd school came. He gave Darla one look, even talked to the rooks and decided Darla needed a school change. So within a few days Darla had a uniform change, and off to Academy she went.
  Darla Deen, at the age of 16 still knew she was not like her peers. The Academy she adored with its magics and more, made her feel like just another girl. But as time marched on, her powers grew strong, and even made a few teachers rather twitchy. For not even the best could contest Darlas' incredible prowess of Directing the Etheric Flow. And very few would know, because it never really showed, that miss Deen never studied not once. For she already knew it all, but were it was learned she did not recall, so they claimed her a genius.
  Darla Deen, age 18 graduated with top degrees. She declined a position of teaching new acquisitions and set off on her own. Darla Deen could been seen almost anywhere across this world. Her fame spread wide but she could always hide from those who sought her out. the reason for her travels is a mystery still unraveled but I would hazard a guess, that Darla Deens' Quest was to find something within herself.
  Darla Deen at 20 would meet the peculiar man that was I. It was out by a lake (it was quite great) where I was caught by Darla's' eyes. It was easy I admit since the fox head didn't quite fit with the orange suit and tie. We chatted for a bit until Darla felt fit to ask me her question of "Why?"
  To which I said: "Darla Deen you are always quite keen, but I understand why this eludes you. Through your whole life you've felt it, how you didn't quite fit in, that some great self truth escaped you. But I am here now to give you just that, since the person playing with you is cheating."
  And I told her a story, of self possessed romance and woe, of a man filled with wretched desire, and so this man cast a spell so simple or complex none could tell, one held in places by falsities and lies. That spell soon lay broken as the real Darla had awoken, and boy was she mad as hell. As her form grew and swelled, she asked why it all took so long. I simply replied "Humans are easy to hide, especially so when you don't quite know which magician your friend might be inside."
  Darla Deen, A dragon and maybe one day a queen, simply rolled her eyes. But she thanked me for this day before she was off and away to char a vain and foolish man. And well I could sit idly by, such a thing an entertainment gold mine! So like any good friend, I made sure their path's crossed again and boy oh boy did he ever fry.