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Claire Side Story – Clarity 1 – Red Inside
🕑 Added 2022-04-15 09:35:25 +0000 UTCClaire’s blood boiled.
Sunrays pierced her metal flesh, seeped into every fibre of her being, and ignited a lifeblood that was no longer there. She could feel the heat crawl over her broken skin. Dry, so dry that it cracked and even the bone of her frail arms could be seen. Sand turned into bloody mud, sealing her wound. Infection spread through her. Each beat of her heart was a desperate flutter, waiting for the long night and an opportunity to brandish her fangs again. To summon her familiars again.
“Claire?”
The gentle voice snapped her out of the violent memory. Her red eyes darted to John. His double, as she well knew, sometimes referred to as Jack, but she only knew this body and his true name was John and as such that was her chosen name for him. His name was unusual and he was gorgeous, more gorgeous and outstanding than any man she had seen before. He had muscles, he was incredibly well-nourished, and he was tall. The only scar on him she had seen so far was a bite-mark on his neck. A tiny mark.
Although the memory faded into the background, the feeling of her boiling blood remained. Like fire, the hatred burned, finding timber within that was sheer inexhaustible. The red inside her mind co-existed with the happiness of the moment. A chipper smile spread on her face. “Sorry, I’m a bad listener, what was going on?”
“You went quiet for an unusually long time,” John told her.
“I really do hate the sun. I really do hate the warmth. I really do hate how bright it is,” Claire responded. “If you would indulge me, you could distract me. How about some more math?”
“For a start, that’s difficult to really talk about while we’re moving. Especially at the level we’re talking about,” John responded. He was flying, while Claire and Aclysia were running. “Considering how terrible the rest of this world’s… civilization is, it's almost impressive how far along you are when it comes to theoretical mathematics. Physics, thankfully, not so much.”
“Why? I thought you wanted this world to be less backwards.”
“There’s something that can be built using physics that has an explosive power strong enough to wipe out the entire Eternal Fortress in a heartbeat.”
Scepticism was a light word for what Claire was feeling. She had wandered the halls of stone and metal, where necromantic energy whispered with what fragments of tormented thought remained within. Consciousnesses forced to cling onto the Iron Domain, reduced to barely sentient fuel, feeding a construction that no clouds dared touch. “Pardon my stupidity, but your definition for physics is the same as mine, right? You drop a creature and it falls to the floor because of this thing called gravity?”
“…I am not even sure if I should be mad about the fact that you used ‘creature’ again or that you are using people as an example of what to drop,” John responded drily.
A sensation she had never felt before she knew him rose to the top. A variety of shame, less stinging and warmer, almost tingly. Embarrassment, a word she had known but never used to refer to her own behaviour. “I’m not a good learner,” she admitted.
“No, you are a good learner,” he disagreed and she liked him for that. When she had picked up self-deprecation, she wasn’t quite sure anymore. Shortly after she first sucked blood. When her mind had awoken from the sewage of Mettle. “To the point, there’s a lot more to physics than that. Admittedly, what I am talking about may not make it through the magical defences… but you could always make two of them. We call it the atom bomb.”
“Must take tremendous magical potential to create a weapon that powerful.”
“Oh no, that’s why I say physics, not artifice. It’s an entirely mundane weapon.”
Mundane, the Earth word for creatures – people – and objects without magic. “Mundane, you say this weapon is? Mundane, able to be created by anyone?” Claire’s scepticism swung in her voice again.
“It’s not that easy that anyone could do it. Given the necessary materials and skills, however, there is no magic required.” John seemed saddened by something. He had that expression sometimes when they discussed… anything, really. It made her want to wrap her arms around his head and massage his thoughts out of his head. There was so much to him that was fascinating. There was so much to him that was useful. “I need to check something out,” he suddenly said and flew upwards, rising over the ravine they were travelling through.
‘I want him, I want him, I want him, I want him,’ a voice inside her chanted continuously, born between vengeance and glee. How long had it been since she had a conversation? Had she ever truly had one before meeting him? What talks could she recall that were longer than five minutes and did not consist of someone talking down to her? ‘I want him to kill with me, I want him to hug me, I want him to rip Arkeidos’ soul out, I want him to comfort me again, I want him, I want him, I want-‘
“I approve of the way you look at Master,” Aclysia whispered into Claire’s ear.
Violently, almost powerfully enough to cause her to stumble, she turned her head at the perfectly dressed maid. Even running, the woman of white and black was an image of grace. Her silver-tinted hair fluttered in the draft, confined somewhat by her black horns. Only the smile on her face and the degree to which her green eyes were open was a little bit off. It was a display that appeared every so often when Aclysia spoke about John and each time it happened, it resonated a bit more with Claire.
“Our world is better than this one and Master will make it better still. It is a blessing to behold his erudite ambition unfold.” A fitting moan ended her swooning and both of them gazed at the Gamer. Claire averted her gaze, only because the sun made long shed flesh ache. “The only man who deserves to be served. My John, the pinnacle of-“
“What did you just call him?” Claire interrupted.
“I was not yet finished stating the full girth of his glory.”
“No, I mean… you said ‘my John’,” Claire pointed out. “I thought he is your master – How can he be yours and you his property at the same time.”
“I am not Master’s property!” Aclysia sounded offended at the suggestion and corrected decisively. “I’m a maid, not a slave. To insinuate that I am enslaved is to insinuate that his brilliance requires force to be recognized. I serve of my own volition, because I recognize it is the one true path to take.”
Hesitation needed to be overcome to ask the next question. “Would you serve if he was weak?”
“Of course!” Aclysia answered with overbearing enthusiasm. “If Master was bedridden and there was naught for him to do but be tended to and be his brilliant self, I would retain my service forever! It is he I love, not his influence nor his personal might.”
“Loyalty not founded on might, a concept still alien to me,” Claire confessed.
“As my John would say, the civics of this world are woefully underdeveloped,” Aclysia said derisively. “Ah, he returns to us.”
Trusting that statement, Claire kept her head down and tried to stick to the darker side of the ravine as much as possible. With every passing minute of the short day, the shadows grew longer. Soon the pain the sun caused her would subside. The boiling of her blood would cease. Hatred would remain and she did not dream of giving it away.
“Anything interesting you discussed?” John asked, when he hovered back down to their level.
“You,” Claire told him, her voice reflecting her optimism. “You’re such an interesting fellow. Layered like an onion.”
The sheer shock on John’s face made her wonder if she just gravely insulted him. “Why do you know what an onion is?”
“I don’t, I just used a metaphor you used before. Did I do it wrong? Did I do something stupid? Did I do-“
“No, no,” John interrupted to calm her. Not that she needed it in the first place, she was dramatizing with a grin. “It’s something to eat, so I had hoped for a second it may exist on this world.”
“Sorry about disappointing you, John,” she said. “Especially after you did so much already to meet my wants and needs. You’ll keep doing that, I’m sure, while I’ll keep being a burden.”
“I really admire your optimism, but that self-deprecation should be toned down,” the conqueror of her world told her with a chuckle and a shake of his head.
A pleasant warmth spread in Claire’s chest. This was an emotion akin to her oldest memories, those rare times when she had been safe in her mother’s arms, embraced and yet unscarred. Just two days ago, she had felt so close to that childish happiness, when he had… ‘He hugged. He hugged me and I want more. I want more.’ Her feet drummed on the grass and stone of Archduchy Labyrinth. ‘More. More. More.’ The desire to be in his arms again mixed with the memory of crushing the cores of Ironborn under her feet. ‘More. More. More.’ She sucked the life out of the marrow of those that had ripped her out of her mother’s embrace. ‘More!’ Their enemies – murdered in droves. ‘MORE!’
“You have a lot of soul searching to do after this is done,” the Gamer continued.
“Not a lot of soul left to search,” Claire responded, her upbeat voice bubbling to the surface, past the madness and misery inside, without conflict.
“Should just make it easier to comb through properly.”
His joking response only enflamed that desire for him more. How did he manage to walk the tightrope of prodding her heart and leisurely talk? It was so easy, so nonchalant, to talk to him about anything. “I guess I could even do it right now. There’s murder there. Interest in you over there. Hatred for the burning ball in the sky… not much else.”
“You should get a hobby.”
“Ironborn hobbies are typically just research.”
“You’re not an Ironborn,” John repeated what he had said days ago and Claire had to blink the tears back immediately. She succeeded, barely, and he kept going. “So, what did you do?”
“I honestly just wandered around most of the time,” she confessed, “or slept. Anywhere to not be bothered by the monsters.”
Aclysia softly cleared her throat to get Claire’s attention. “My recommendation would be to pick up cooking.”
Strongly, she recalled that word. To be doubly sure, she refreshed herself on the definition, “Is that the act of putting together ingredients in order to create a tastier meal?”
“Affirmative.”
“What would I do with that? We can’t process food anymore. I can’t even consume Mettle, which, trust me, I do not miss.”
“If you were to continue spending time with my Master…”
“Something I am very open to, continue.”
“…then you may be shown a way to enjoy the taste of organic matter once again. Beyond that…” she trailed off.
Claire wondered why, until she noticed the stern look John had on his face. “What’s the matter?” she wanted to know.
The Gamer’s expression returned to the usual smile. It was diminished, that much was certain. “Let’s not talk about me.”
“But you’re so interesting!” Claire’s sprinting strides delivered her up the slope of the valley. Each leap was accompanied by cheery words. “Such a handsome man with such great character. I want to know what your hobbies are!” A last, particularly powerful leap was meant to carry her all the way to the upper edge. The strength of her legs caused the rock underneath to crumble. A fall would have been inconsequential, yet John had been ready to catch her immediately, proven by the speed of his reaction.
An arcane flare initiated a boost of speed that let the double of the Gamer wrap an arm around her waist and halt her fall after less than half a metre. Scooping down, he swiftly hooked his other arm under her legs. Comfortably, she lay across his arms. His hands weren’t particularly large, but they held her with such certainty, as he hovered back up.
The pleasant tingle she felt when around him became suddenly and almost violently manifest. A powerful impulse caused her to wrap her arms around his neck. Like a delightful fever, the warmth rose into raw heat. She panted, moaned even, as her legs rubbed together. Soft thighs, clenched, a slick wetness between them. An extreme version of this new, exciting sexual attraction she felt. It begged to be brought higher still. Parts of her lower body shifted, reconstructing parts she had never used. It was like she was rediscovering something she should never have forgotten. Something that was robbed from her by the tyrant and his ilk.
Rage and lust, both overbearing, drummed in her ears. Darkness settled over Labyrinth, the vestiges of purple vanishing under the horizon. The night embraced her, smothered the pain, and let the red inside awake fully. Each squirming of her legs spread the wetness further, worsened that physical delight. ‘Together, together, together, together…’ Over and over, without sense, the word repeated in her head. Flashing images of tearing chunks of blue out of HER accompanied it all.
Then John placed a hand on the back of her head and all was calm.
A moment of tranquillity took hold of her and they landed. He stroked her hair. The rage and the lust were gone. Clarity she could not comprehend took hold and she realized that, for the first time in her life, she could have something the moment she admitted she wanted it.
“I’ll come with you,” she whispered. “Wherever you go.”
John took a deep breath. He saw so many things flash over his face at that moment. Glee, most of all. Surprise, after that. Guilt, for some reason. “Are you sure?”
Words were difficult, all her senses were filled with him and so all she could do was nod. She looked at his lips, knowing what she wanted to happen next. Claire had seen him and Aclysia do it numerous times before. Hers parted just a bit, her eyes closed, she hoped she looked enticing.
How was it that there was an even more exquisite bliss than the murder of the Ironborn? When his lips connected with hers, when he grabbed her even tighter, when his fingers dug into her thighs, when she pressed her breasts against his chest, when his tongue carefully invaded her mouth and when she let him, each was an individual height of life.
Just when she thought it could not ascend any higher, when the kiss ended, a second pair of hands cupped her face between them. She opened her eyes to see Aclysia lean in and claim her lips again. Held by and onto John, the kiss of the gorgeous and wise maid added a sensation of acceptance to this blossoming love. Almost, she threatened to drown in all of the joy of the occasion.
“Thank you,” she gasped, after Aclysia too pulled back.
“There is naught to thank for, Claire,” the model maid made clear.
“There is so much to thank for,” she disagreed, looking between the two of them. “You have shown me a path to kill who I hate. You have shown me a path to a future. You have shown me a path on which I can become someone else.”
John looked so infinitely relieved upon hearing that. Something she had said must have been right. “Don’t live for revenge or for me, Claire, either would be a waste of what I see in you,” he told her and added, jokingly, “and keep the parts of the current you around that I like.”
“Yes, Master,” Claire pledged.
