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Inescapable	By : LotornoMiko Category: +S through Z > Valkyrie Profile Views: 1613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Valkyrie Profile, or the characters from it.I do not make money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Inescapable
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 1
- 2
Standard Disclaimer time. I do not own Lenneth Valkyrie, Lezard Valeth, or anything else from Valkyrie Profile. That honor belongs to Square Enix and Tri Ace. No do I make any money off of this fic. It's done for pure entertainment purposes.
-Michelle
It is the noise that first wakes me. The closed door can't quite muffle the screams of the dying. Anymore that it can prevent me from scenting flesh burning. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't want to see what is going on beyond this room. And yet the screams continue, fear and desperation being eaten away by pain. It calls to me, though my name is never spoken. I am not even a thought in the minds of those that are dying.
My movements are slow as I sit up. Sleep still clings to me, trying to lull me back down to dreams. But I ignore the soft invite of my pillow, listening to the sounds of my movement. The bed creaks softly, the sheet rustles as I untangle it from around me. Most chilling of all is the sound of a chain clanking. It is a sound I am used to, but have not yet grown to accept. Perhaps I never will.
The chain's rattle follows me as I step bare foot across the floor. The plush carpet fibers cushion underneath my feet, soft and ticklish. But no urge is within me to giggle. I've left laughter behind me, it has no place in my life now.
I'm in no rush as I walk towards the door. The scene outside it will wait. The screams assure me of that. I wish they were louder. Then perhaps they'd drown out the tell tale sound of the chain.
With that thought in mind, I move to open the door's latch. As it creaks open a crack, the sounds do grow louder. I pick up on things I hadn't noticed before. The sounds of swords clashing, the sparks they bring up. The determined voices of those who aren't yet dying, and a maddeningly familiar laughter. That laughter is as wicked as it is insane, and a chill works it way down my body.
I don't open the door all the way. There is no point. The chain won't extend far enough to allow me to pass through it. I can only stand there, my face pressed into the small opening that allows me to gaze out into the corridor.
There are warriors out there, armed men and women, fighting valiantly. They ignore the horrors of their companions who have been roasted alive, their focus on a single target. That target is a man. He stands with his back to the door, allowing me to only see the flare of his cape as he casts spell after spell. His short hair is badly mussed, strands swaying wildly in the wind that he has conjured.
That wind batters the warriors about, but never comes close to putting out the flames that are charring several people to death. He laughs at the sight of this, giving an unhurried gesture with his right arm that has jagged stone erupting from the ground. The stone impales a woman where she stands, her blood splattering everywhere. By the time it withdraws from her body, the tiled floor is undisturbed.
Her body catches on fire. There are still three more warriors trying to reach him. I can see the fear in the youngest's eyes. He wants to run but already knows he has zero chance of escape. So he chooses to face his death with honor. All on the hopes his soul will be accepted into Valhalla. But Valhalla is no more, the shining Realm known as Asgard in complete ruins. There are no Gods to want human souls, no Valkyries left to escort the fallen home.
It would be easy to blame this all on the man the warriors are fighting. He has committed many sins, done many evil things in order to obtain his heart's desire. But there is fault in me too. I know that. If I hadn't been born so beautiful. If I hadn't been so overconfident when facing him. If I hadn't been so new to my own powers. Many variables could have ensured things were different.
I know it is useless to wish for that which I cannot change. There is only torture in that path. Why torment myself with dreams of a world that is different, a world that is free from his tyranny? Especially when the reality is so decidedly different. The Gods dead, many of the nine realms destroyed, people forced to pay homage to the one responsible for all this.
Not everyone accepts what has happened. The people are unhappy with the change. Many choose to fight the new order. It's why they come here. They have no chance of killing him. They place their hopes not on their blades, but on me. If they can get past his defenses long enough for one of them to set me free, they think things will be different. They don't seem to understand I have already been beaten. My wings clipped, my hope extinguished. I am so used to his ways I am barely more than a shadow of my former self.
It wasn't always like this. Once I was free. Once there was no chains to hold me down. That seems like a millennia ago. Long before he smiled at me. Long before he was covered in the blood of my friends, my sisters, even my lover. Tears no longer prick my eyes when I think of their faces, their deaths a distant memory that holds little effect on me.
It is that distance that allows me now to watch, utterly unfeeling as he so ruthlessly slaughters the warriors who have come for me. He will never allow them to get any closer than they already are. It is mere cruelty that he allowed them so near. He loves to extinguish hope, enjoys snatching apparent victory right out of their hands. I'm so close these warriors had a moment of hope, thinking the quest was at an end. That the realm's torment would finally be over with, hope restored to the world.
It is not now, nor will it ever be over. I've accepted it, why can't they? They are just wasting their all too brief lives with this pointless pursuit. I can do nothing for them, I've long since stopped caring. The world beyond my prison has ceased to exist for me, the people there nothing more than shadows. The part of me that cared about the world has gone quiet, it's voice silenced with a whimper.
A whimper much like the youngest of the remaining three voices now. He's on the ground, one arm stretched out towards my door. His eyes are pleading, his voice rising in supplication. He wants so badly for me to save him, his hand reaching towards me. What can I give him in this state? I turn away, letting the door fall shut completely. It doesn't succeed in drowning out his panicked cry, or the sound of Gungnir being thrust into his body.
The last two of my would be rescuers will be made quick work of. He won't even work up a sweat, so effortless is his killings. If I went to the door now, I'd see him. Standing amidst the bodies, drenched in their blood. The smoke of the roasted flesh would cling to his clothes, and he'd wear a look he doesn't ever knowingly show me. It is a look of pure rage, his eyes narrowed, flashing with anger. And all because he hates when people try to take me from him.
The proof of how strong that hate is, is just outside my door. He doesn't hold back with those he views as thieves. He'd never let them lay their hands on me, any more than he would show me that particular expression. Even when I resisted, he never got as angry with me as he does with these warriors.
The screams have stopped, the last of the warriors dead. He won't come to me just yet. He'll be busy making sure no trace of the bodies are left to stink up the hall and the surrounding rooms. But eventually he will come, freshly showered, but still smelling faintly of the blood that had clung to him so recently. It nearly overrides his personal scent, that of the spicy zing of magic, and the chemicals he uses in his alchemy.
The scent of blood on him should sicken me. It is a reminder that it is a murderer who embraces me. But it is just one more thing I am used to, to the point it no longer affects me. What does one more body's worth of blood matter, when he's killed thousands? The deaths dirty my hands, just as surely as they sully his. It is for me that he's killed. It is to keep me that he's destroyed, that he will continue to bring death and ruin upon any who hold the ambition to try and separate me from his side.
It is with this knowledge that I part my lips for his kiss. He is always eager for me, but never so much as when he's fought off the threats to his happiness. I can tell by his murmur that he is pleased by my lack of resistance. It is something he'll never tire of, this acceptance in me. It wasn't always this way, in the beginning I fought. Fought his expressed affection, denied his claims of love. A small eternity passed before I began to tire of a struggle that seemed endless.
How long have I been with him? Time has stopped turning for us. We simple are. I have a feeling it will always be this way, this room my prison, his private paradise. I'm the key to his happiness, my body used to soothe the savage within him. When the back of my legs hit the mattress, I do not resist. I go down, and he follows, never breaking the kiss. What need do we have of air, when we can breathe of each other.
The familiar weight of him pins me down. I am reminded of the first time, the memory coming to me in startling clarity. Then too he pinned me, using his weight to hold my struggling form down even as he captured my wrists in his hand. His kisses felt like fire, painful and burning. Everywhere he touched, my armor and the dress I wore beneath it, seemed to melt away.
He had still been new to his divinity then. But he knew enough to make use of his new powers, using the divine energy ether to strip away my defenses as easily as he removed my clothing. He still looks at me with the same reverent awe of the first time, his gaze as worshipful as his touches are. My body is long familiar with being caressed by him, I dare say I long to be touched by his expert hands.
Back then I knew only revulsion, crying out panicked though he tried his best to put me at ease. It mattered not that first time, I was inconsolable to what was happening. I couldn't believe I had been defeated, my companions slain before me. That this man, this self made God was violating me so. It mattered not how often he told me he loved me. How many times he whispered of my beauty. How he liked my spirit. His flattering tongue could not appease me, no matter what it spoke of, or what it did.
That wicked tongue of his is moving, coiling around mine. I move with him, tongue and body rubbing against his. Another pleased moan, he's shifting enough to lift off me. His hands rub up and down the length of my bare arms, warming me. I continue to undulate beneath him, my breasts rubbing against his chest. The thin fabric of my night gown can't protect me from the coarse fabric of his jacket. It abrades my nipples, allowing them to stiffen considerably. He can't possibly not notice, a chuckle escaping him.
But he doesn't move towards them, continuing to rub warmth into my arms. And still goose bumps are raised on my skin, an impatient noise escaping me. It only fuels his ego, his lips pressing more insistently against mine as our tongues duel. He always kisses me as though he would devour me, eat me alive from head to toe. Such hunger once frightened me. I had been so afraid of being consumed by his desire for me.
I can remember fighting even his kiss, my teeth coming down on his lower lip. I had tasted his blood then, cringing back even as my eyes were defiant. But he hadn't struck me. Instead his tongue snaked out to lick away the blood I had drawn, his kisses falling on my throat. Lower, past my collarbone, burning a path into my skin. My body bare and all too vulnerable. His hand had still held mine, captured and stretched above my head.
His kisses of the present mimic his actions of that first ravishment. He's broken the kiss, pausing only long enough to kiss one corner of my mouth. And then he is trailing downwards, his fingers slipping under the thin straps of my nightgown. There is no hurry, no rush to ravage me. He is confidant there will be no interference. There is no need for doubts in the moment. This will happen, and no one can stop it. Nor do I want them too, my head falling back against the pillows, my throat offered up to his kisses.
His hands jerk back, fingers snapping free the straps of my nightgown. And with their breaking, the garment is torn down my body, exposing me to my waist. There will be no salvaging of the nightgown, it is beyond repair. Beyond my care, my fingers entwining in the back strands of his hair. Once I would have pulled on them, all in an attempt to hurt him. Now I stroke and massage his scalp, encouraging his actions.
He likes my participation. His ardor is increased by it, his kisses delving lower on my body. His hands are gripping my waist now, holding me steady for his attention. His eyes gleam behind clear panes of glass, he is looking up at me even as he closes a mouth around one stiff nipple.
I do not try to stop my reaction, my mouth a perfect o. I arch my back, even as I moan, greedy for the warmth he offers me. He continues to smile, his eyes gleaming behind the panes of his glasses. He likes to watch my face as he does this. It pleases him to know no other will ever see the way I change, the way my expressions distort into that of pure pleasure. It is a face I wear only for him, my reactions unable to stop nor do I want them too.
The warmth of his mouth is around my nipple, lips pulling insistently on that stiffness. His tongue rolls over the tip of my flesh, laving further sensations through me. Fire flames through me, making me burn for him. It is a pleasant heat that leaves tingles in it's wake. The tingles in turn make me itch, and only he can soothe it. Mouth, tongue, fingers, it doesn't matter what he uses just so long as he keeps touching me. Keeps loving me.
How far have I fallen? Once I would have denied that this act had any love to it. I would have seen it only as a crime perpetrated against me. But such thoughts belong to a different Lenneth, a Lenneth from a millennia ago. What was once a moment I dreaded, has now become everything to me. The confirmation of my existence, the proof that I am wanted, that I am loved.
I feel that love in every touch, in every look he sends my way. My body continues to melt beneath his, liquid pooling between my thighs. The rustle of silk echoes in my ears, the remains my nightgown being pulled free of my body. There's no time to shiver, his heat keeps me warm. I continue my dance beneath him, his body playing a tune that I cannot resist. Just as he cannot resist the enticement of my movements, his hands caressing over my sides.
I sigh and I moan, longing within me. I clutch him as close as he can be, crying out for more. I am rewarded with his smile, having pleased him with my demands. His tongue does one last, hard laving of my nipple, making me shudder in bliss. It is both a tease and a reminder. I know what that tongue of his is capable of, and how quick he is to use it. Here, there, anywhere it pleases him. And all because he's made my body the altar in which he worships daily. Sometimes hourly.
If I am the altar, then he is the prayer, his body pressing into mine with devout intent. It would be sacrilege to deny this, to deny us. So I don't, my legs falling open to welcome him inside. He sinks into me with a satisfied sound, one I can't help but echo. How different my voice is now from the revulsion I used to express. This no longer feels wrong, I am his to possess.
His hips move, and each thrust brings me closer to forgetting everything but him. I think that soon there will come a time when I don't even remember anything except him and this room. Before that happens, let me share my story one last time. The story of my descent, of the madness that ate away at all of my resistance.
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To Be Continued...
So...this was originally meant to be a one shot. But then I realized I couldn't possibly convey everything I wanted in a one shot. Not without it being monstrous in size. X_X So I am hoping this will be a mini series instead. Next chapter probably won't continue in first person point of view. I'll be working on this SLOWLY...as slowly as my other VP fics. Simply cause Valkyrie Profile seems to take much more energy and time for me to write than my other fandom. (Which is crazy how easily I can write for Voltron. I wish Lezard Lenneth gave me as easy a time as Lotor and Allura.) This will be a little tricky to get to my planned ending scene...I'll probably have to use time skips...erg...
Michelle
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Inescapable