Obelisk of Sand and Soil, Haku x Zabuza
Haku x Zabuza BL fanfiction
There is nothing.
And then,
(background: shining light, animated by opacity tweens, a ball, beautiful)
--A shining profane spirit descends.
Slowly it befalls me.
Like an eerie dove. Every weather is dissipating light.
And gives me light.
Scene: it's a beautiful school. Actually -- It's more of a labyrinth. The school towers above the town. The sun never shines on it. The sky is always a flat, matte, black. There are no stars, and the surrounding town is lost in the encroaching horizon (note: the horizon is closer than it is meant to be). Everything in the school is lit with a cold glow. There is no warmth. Everything is clean. The only people in the school run off a script. They have to make me happy. If they can't make me happy, they will cease to exist. They can't observe me, but they can give me attention. It's my perfect world.
Somewhere in the school is the god of terror and destruction.
There are no other people in the beautiful school. The people that are there do not breathe, and have no skin (they have fabric instead). They emit no heat, and they obey my thoughts.
They are grey and featureless; it's important that they can't breathe or emit heat; they can't speak, too.
One-by-one, I arbitrarily command the cold-people to bring me one of their own.
A command.
They obey, and bring me the culprit of my imagined crime.
I-- (I hesitate, because I don't want to to say it)
I hurt them (this is my compromise from the prior comment).
It feels great for me. They clutch into my hands and shred. Their fabric becomes stained, and wet.
I finish, and the cold-person dis-animates and crumples into their innard and skin.
I telepathically command a cold-person to discard the crumple into the chamber where millions of other crumples are stored.
Somewhere in the beautiful school is the god of terror, and destruction. It hears my heart beat, through the thousand million layers of concrete, hall, and artery. The god of terror walks. The god of destruction takes a step towards me, through everything.
I wake.
Haku is under me, pressed into the snow, staring at me with prey-animal eyes.
I vomit on him.
He stares at me, statuesque, and beautiful.
I spit on-to his face, he lays still.
Soon I'll sit on his chest and then masturbate on-to his clothes. He do this regularly. It's become a rote game.
I overpower him, he stares at me and goes limp, I vomit or bleed on him, and then I masturbate.
Ejaculate lands on his clothes, and I feel terrible. I stare at him, he stares at me.
I hide myself.
I slump on his lap, and peel the stuck hairs from his face; pluck few out of his lips and mouth; he looks stupid. Thumb off the spittle and bile from his cheek. He's breathing so loudly and I can't stand it; I can feel the warmth between my legs from his body -- hot, hot, responses from inside; from his blood circulating throughout him.
"Haku, stop emiting heat."
I give him a command.
Haku immediately stops emiting heat, and his blood goes cold.
The world and the agents inside of it have been like this ever since God spoke to me through a sequence of patterns hidden in nature. It was not ninjutsu; it was the holy word of God. In my discovery: the landscape fractaled into colors, and I saw a carpet of shadowy insects behind every object, that had been command me through invisible aural commands in the air. Their legs would always molest out towards me and usher commands that I had been following: I mistook animal cries, voices, wind rushing, rain beat pattering, swords clashing, blood dropping -- all of these were, in reality, stinking voices of crickets commanding me into a confusing reality. God commanded them to do this. It was his mercy to keep me from being bored, however: he had grown bored with the illusion, and permitted me a glimpse of the script that I had abided by. I saw, too: inside of Haku.
Perspective of Haku: he views me as his dad, he loves me, he will die for me, and he is grateful that I have shown him adventure and warm touch. His parents did not offer that. Perspective of Haku, written from Haku: I view Zabuza as my dad, I love him, I will die for him, and I am grateful that he has shown me adventure and a warm touch. My parents did not offer that.
God had injected Haku with patercide; matercide; I'm not positive of the word. But, now, I have plucked the commands from the air and altered this boy into my servant. He is not a boy, but I love him; he is not human -- he is a human-human approximate.
I kiss his face, I taste my own stomach. I still feel bad cumming on his chest. God shown me, too, that these human-human machines are capable of trapping me in shame-stack that exists through observation of my nature. I do not know what that means, but that I may not hide my nature -- as Adam took part in apple, knowledge: he became impossible to hide his shame. It stacks, upon being observed.
Haku opens his mouth and speaks the sound of a crowd whispering.
Footsteps through snow and cobblestone are his words.
I can't listen to him, so I order him to wither out his vocal cords, and he acquiesces.
I prod a wire into his shoulder, and it exits out through his back, stuck through artery and without blood. He makes no reaction. And so, I do not react. The sensation of the wire is burning and caught, he is stuck. The word 'stuck' is all I can think about seeing the wire eerily float out from his form. His flesh marred by that erect wire. I look down his body. I run my palm down his chest, his fabrics, his groin.
Cold and quiet he lays.
He lay back in the snow, as I remembered him from when we first met. His legs were parted, and so were his lips; steam seemed to pour upward from several indents in the snow; a cloud of steam seemed to surround his form.
"Zabuza, the snow reflects the sky above, and all of Gods kingdom. Under that mirror surface is plain dirt, and soil."
Haku grasped under the mirror and shown me his words were just-as-said: it was nothing more than plain dirt.
"You are a tool for me, and not meant to waste breath on philosophical nonsense. You dirty the air with every word. You dirty my heart with every shame-stack you placed upon it. Although my love for you is as you know: I loathe that you have observed me. I loathe that you have become impossible to untangle. You have observed me Haku, and I want you to be still. I want you to lay still and let me fuck you, and act as you were lifeless -- instead: be lifeless for me, do not act. Cease your breathing, be a tool, and be whet with oil to cease from rusting. Hack-up the scent of turpentine and moisture, hack-up oil. Be as my wishes dictate, now."
Haku blanked out his existence and fell inanimate before me in the snow. Perfectly were my words internalized. I felt the inside of his lips with my thumb -- there was no more heat, and the color from his skin had left. His eyes were blank gems, beautiful and unmoving. His skin resembled the snow, and I kissed it, for it was perfect.
"Haku, underneathe your skin is your true form, and it is that what I covet to touch; I wish you to touch the same in me. I do not speak of your skeleton, I do not speak of your muscles, I do not speak of anima, nervous, circulation, thought -- I speak of something hidden underneathe everything, and I desire to hold that."
I removed my pants; I was erect, which made me depressed. In my internal world, it made me remember my mom carressing me. It made me imagine a dark room spilled full with semen that sparkled in the space around me. I could touch it, and it would coldburn my skin. The scent was unbearable, and in this space I felt removed from God.
I entered into Haku; there was a dry resistance, and afterwards: he was there, with me, in the dark space separate of cold machinery that I had felt; there was a terribly rotten warm glow inside my tummy. My muscles ached, and I pierced his sternum with my hand; I gripped the bone-center of his ribs as clumsily as I could and cursed internally "I wish I could tear this bone off of you. I hate it."
I put my weapon inside Haku. I wanted him to feel an unbearable heat, and I wanted his whole entirety of self to contract around it. I wanted him to feel everything, and be unable to dislodge this burning torture from inside himself. I stared into his eyes. I wanted to kill him. I stared into his pretty eyes; they were closed, and he was begging me to stop -- without speaking. His slender hands were against my chest and pushed. They were too weak to move me. I weighed down over him; muscle-upon-muscle overshadowed the weak material that I tortured. There was no person under that material -- just bone connecting bone. I pressed my thumb under his ribcage and gripped. You're all there. You're all inside my hand. I press thumb into his tummy. You're all soft and taut. You spread away from my thumb. Your voice is choked out and. Nothing was underneathe but cold-pressed metal crimped together in layers; bolts held you together. Open your eyes.
His eyes opened, and let me in; they were beautiful; they held a world inside of them, a world that let me in. Inside was a cold machine. Empty, and emptiness spread. I looked out onto empty from INSIDE THE MACHINE THAT WAS INSIDE HIS EYES. THERE WAS NOTHING FOR MILES AROUND. FACULTY DEVELOPED INSIDE THE INDUSTRIAL EMPTY INSIDE HIM; IT STRETCHED OUT INTO THE DARKNESS FROM VERTICE TO SPLINE; EMPTY COLD-SHEETS OF STEEL, IRON, AND NON-MUSCLE STRETCHED OUTWARDS; I WAS LOST IN THE WORLD. The organ I held inside him contracted, and I pressed my fingers hard around his collar-bones. He was animal prey to me, suffering from a gunshot wound; somehow I was bleeding. I feed him my blood. His mouth is covered in my blood; he feels an unbearable warmpse and the frailty with which his EYES NOW OPEN AND TAKING ME INTO THE INFINITE EMPTY INDUSTRIAL MACHINE INTERIOR; I LOOK OUT INTO THE DARKNESS AND SEE ANOTHER MILE OF COLD SHEETS PRESSED TOGETHER WITH HEAVY PRESS; FROM THE EDGES OF THE BOLTS WERE NOW MY BLEED, WET AND CRIMSON. I SAW THE NETWORK OF VEINS STRETCHING OUT FROM MY INTERIOR. IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE CAR HE WAS CHOKING, AND I WAS STARING DOWN AT PREY FILLED WITH mechanical stone-bleached bones; Haku looked beautiful like this; and I kissed him.
"I may not talk, for God does not command me to speak for the impurity that we've been confused in-to, Zabuza."
"I know. You are thoughtless and filled with that white static; I've begun to see it too; in your eyes is an infinite empty of a machine that has been pumping a steady nothing, steadily; it terrifies me."
I pulled myself from Haku and felt his temperature still on me; in-to his cup I poured him flowing lead and fed the cup-full to my lover; his stamina was regained and I held him in my arms, where he rested in silence. The warmth of the drink and temperature from his body was iron-cold; I had to speak to him what God commanded me, there, then, on the outskirts of the Hidden Leaf village -- there in the backseat of the vehicle, and in the brambles of Wilderness where pure education could occur.
Haku, step into the cold soil, here in moonlight, and dig yourself into the clay here that all idol has been wrought. Here, feel our ancestry bonded; I have felt the dry water underneathe calling me from that machined hollow that circulates through you. You are nothing; I had spoken with him wordlessly and telepathically, as we always had. His fant sank into that loose soil.
Sank, sank; we had become sunken in a shape that was ceased to exist; the semen that had impermeated skin had vanished and become brittle as my uterus; flakes of blood flew into the air around me, with material, and aeons of millennia had gone with it in the wind -- it was not Ninjutsu, and it was not God; it was an unbecoming of the stomach and lungs that we had found ourselves in. There, was not Haku, and there was not Zabuza.
There was the shimmering pool of insects that I had been placing my penis and arms in-to; there were my lips pressed up against a molesting pair of mandibles, that had been whispering to me in voice identical to my lover Haku, "Zabuza, do not leave me; I love you" the shimmering black pool spoke in that wild-honey locust voice.
I kissed and departed from the pool, and pulled my arm and penis from the glowering cockroaches. I sat back in the chamber, and realized the extent of this world. I saw, too, the bacteria that had been seeping in-to this painted world. It had driven me and Haku to have sex, and had been contaminating everything around us to see this sight; so: we had now seen.
The fragile hands in mine were unseeable. They belonged to Haku; Haku, who I whispered to -- who I named, and named again to Germaine; God had also renamed me to Demetritus. I conveyed all of this to my lover. Haku, who I love. Germaine, who I covet: hear me, as I've heard:
"On the outside there is nothing but a cold box, on which serface is serfixed with a shimmering pool of insects, spackled in color and radiating in a brilliant black; there, our Lord has named you Germaine -- and me Demetritus. I have lain with a pool of locust as I have you; I have felt nothingness contract around my genital, as I have felt your iron warmth contract around my genital. I breed with you and produce no offspring, and I know the reason why both of us act impotently, and with barren spirit."
"Why, Demetritus?" is what Haku asked me, telepathically and without sound.
"We here are agents of Inside and operating off of a script by a malevolent agent that would see us act in color against our character; we are misaligned to the whims of an outside malevolent agent that requires us each to run off script for them. For you, I do not exist, and the length of my intestine is none-other than cold-pressed machinery designed to facilitate pointless breeding and excreting. For me, you are the same cold empty machine that processes script and bears its belly for me in submission. I kill you daily, and you kill me daily, in our own instances. I propose to you, empty machine: that we obey the word of God and find outward" I gesture towards the ocean that has appeared before us; the baptismal body itself -- not one of water, but one of the drenched spirit that has become an inbetween, "the extent of our nature; our Lord decries us impure that will not be descended upon by Holy Spirit, nor baptised by sea-of-man; we are doomed to dryness, and our creator sheds layer of decency from her uterus to fuel the pointlessness of our own machineries."
"I pray for us, Zabuza."
"Still, as I plunge my fingers into your rib cage; you are a ripe fruit that was born to be bruised by me -- accept my weakness without stacking shame or telethothic tortures." Then: the sky aberrated apart into a myriad of purple, teal, gold, and umber; a beautiful mountain-range layn barren disintegrated. It was beautiful; I spoke to my lover as he swoll around my spear-grip, "we will drown ourselves in this ocean on the 33st of our birthday, as Christ, as the number of the insect that has fed upon our blood and semen."
Haku nodded, now acting as the spirit of Germaine.
I joined hands with Germaine overlooking a great hollow. There was nothing here, but a glowing spirit in the center of it all. The hollow was a pit, and Germaine clutched the hand of Demetritus. On the horizon of hollow were same shimmering black skittering with the insects. The insects I had laid with, and had miscommunicated with. God taught me the importance in differing 'communication' from 'miscommunication,' the language the insects would share with me would always be of the latter inferior; it was a language of confusion and illusion; God taught me, too, the importance of 'confusion' for all the world and it's representation would be separated from the abstract truth and realm with which He existed.
Demetritus and Germaine -- Zabuza and Haku -- were not in this abstract truth, nor were we confused. We had fallen outside the bounds of something confused, and landed into an representational pocket where everything was depressingly red, and real; we had become in the realm of a pit field -- and there she was. The princess of this hollow. Centered amongst the insect wall. Lain with cheek pressed into slick black semen that shared more consistency with cricket-shells than reproductive material.
I could see from where we stood that the protein contained within was denatured and spindling. It spiraled outwards into the pit. Into the labyrinth. Into this dark uterus. And copulated endlessly, twistedly, and rapishly. It made worlds, and plucked at uterine follicles.
Dust and blood were shedding in worlds I could not detect.
Germaine clutched my hand and whispered to me words that I would not yet understand:
"We have become lost to the world of confusion. We have become out of reach of God, but well within the realm; this is part of Crawling Chaos -- we are witnessing something that is not meant; we are the shell that has been scooped dry by the pit fiend we witness, this abstractive Naught we are not meant to behold; our master and prize of the representational Prince who may never reach the tower that his Princess resides within. This is abstract, and it is representational. This is to witness the invading member of our shared bodies. I feel no warmth, for I am on the outskirts of sphincter and penis, both, looking away."
I was outside of my body.
Everything felt wet, and I knew the God of Destruction and Terror had been real. It treaded, closer and closer. It stomped through the Village of the Mist. It stomped through my memories.
Every wall I erected between us; concrete and flesh; were but paper. It moved in synch with my Germaine heartbeat. I pleaded.
"You must stop circulating, or you will kill us both."
"I wish to die with you, Demetritus."
I will die with him, I realized.
I realized I was nothing more than a rabbit that would be feasted up-on, in naturallacious dupleuroateuronimical austeriologicaleurilogicalioauium deuteraiterutiatritus maiterituasteritologiceriumaologericaleiruologicaleuritoltigcal faceuteriologeutiricaleurrieologeneticadicaleuriologicalyeuriologireruyological mixtures, impossible and profane, repeated and incomprehensible. God spoke; the material were to be honored and separate of the abstract.
I had separated.
The princess centered spoke the following:
“Before my soul dries and Lord claims me as pure material to become shrine: I exist as a pit fiend, and my feelings are NOT sexual attraction -- they are far more PURE AND PRISTINE than ANYTHING that could be considered sexual attraction; they are profane and BONDED to this room. Rib cages of small fry FIND themselves into my hands and get crushed; absolutely; I annihilate their bodies and grind their soul back to dry dust that should scatter over the surface; scatter over this earth and meld back into the fucking DIRT and become swallowed deeply under. Those organs of animals are succulent fruit that has been grown in private from a garden secret to me and to the world; and yet God has granted me a key and shining spirit to see with-out sight and with-out sound the scent from this garden; as Eve I am tempted, and I am weak. Let the outside insect body look down up-on me lost in my stupor as I stare into the shimmering pool body of a thousand million crickets with their molesting legs, and watch them watch me strew over my lap and groin the stem of cats and apples they each grow inside them, warmly. Ugly and iron smelling pears, apples, tamarine, deuraplastacine, and tourpenoid fruits; into the cup of Haku I pour copper ethyllaline, and he drinks from my cup full-ly and warmly until sated, and his spirit is filled with my spirit, and we are as one; under palm of Zabuza. My spirit bonded into the walls of Haku injects my outside script causing him to run; we fall our face into Zabuzas lap and breathe-deep the scent of his loins, the warmth of his body, the temperature of his genital, legs, thighs; in our palm is his flank; in his hand is we us. In that hollow with which I've found to inject myself in-to, created by my sisters and brothers in the idolatrous network: the hollow black with insects trapping on outskirts: is suitable space for me to expand, to exist, in that pit, with cheek pressed to shimmering black semen. My face is stuck lovingly against the cold fluid; it is mine; it is proof of my existence here in this hollow; surrounded by insect -- outside is the fractalline inside world, of colors beautiful, strewn across its skies are red connecting satanic splines that dart connectivity.”
God offered me the following knowledge to understand the events.
The inside we had existed in was illusion, the actors we had known had been illusion, and the events of our lives were little more than script being injected by outside. Outside was separate from inside. We had separated. I looked at Haku, and I saw Germaine. At one point: I had been a father to him. Now I had lain with him as though he were a lover. In another life: I killed him. In another life, he killed me. He had been a girl, at one point. The script we were possessed by caused us to endlessly play-out scenarios that were injected from pit fiend inside of hollow. Molesting insects wished to fondle and carress the body, breast, genitals of what they observed from an infinitely distant wall, and pool. I may not be here in outside. I may still have my penis, arm, and mouth, up against their body as I lay dying in their arm. They wished, too, to pull me in; to be feed; to milk from my uterus liquid torture. Demon had dripped through the cracks that were constructed by a predator. My shadow being baked in-to the wall had been halted. Our adventure together would end shortly. None of it mattered, and I had decided to kill myself. The world decided to ensure our annihilation.
The princess of hollow grew distant, but her hand grew closer, closer.
It grew over myself and Germaine.
It closed around us.