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Message-ID: <36583asstr$1022152204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "celia batau" <pinataheart@bigplanet.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Lost Loves {celia batau} (MF fant no sex)
Date: Thu, 23 May 2002 07:10:04 -0400
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hi everyone!

note: this story is based on characters created by Shon Richards. this story
was written with his permission.

Viona is a hero who searches after the evil wizard Zandark, destroying his
towers as he builds them. they are also secret lovers, streaks of white
appearing in Viona's hair after each intimate contact.

the sorceress Hulimetetchil's name is pronounced hoo-li'-meh-teh-tchil.

note: copyright 2002 celia batau. you may copy this story for personal use
so long as the author's name and this note are retained. permission to copy,
distribute, or display this work is not given to any website which charges
access to it. permission to copy, distribute, or display this work is given
to "no charge" websites with written consent of author.
this story was edited by Sam I am. yay Sam!

If you like this story or have any comments, please email us at
pinataheart@bigplanet.com.

-cb



lost loves

celia batau, (c)2002

The evil sorceress Hulimetetchil stalked the corridors of her prison, a
darkness within the darkness. Her fingers brushed along the glassy surface
of the stone walls, seared smooth by a rage that had boiled continuously for
thousands of years.

Hulimetetchil's black eyes scanned sightlessly ahead of her, paced by the
echo of the iron-spiked heels of her boots. Zandark had put her here. The
powerful wizard had betrayed her young trust and had cast her into this
lightless dimension. When she returned to the world, she would burn out his
eyes and hang his skull in the eternal desert. She would strip the skin from
his screaming carcass and wrap it around the tree of wounds. She would. . .
.

The sorceress stopped. Her fingers had grazed over an imperfection in the
wall. Slowly, she rubbed her thumb across the tiny fissure in the smooth
stone. Hulimetetchil smiled. A little flaw was hardly a doorway, but it was
enough.

Sliding her tongue over the sharpened points of her teeth, the sorceress
summoned her powers and concentrated them into the fissure. Her energies
bucked and rippled as they contracted, finally reawakened from their
slumber, coiled throughout the endless corridors of her prison. The fissure
glowed and then it widened, opening into an oval as large as the woman's
body. Hulimetetchil peered through the opening, then with a smile as cold as
Balgrethian ice, she stepped through it.

--

The Alezhuran Mountains formed a broken border to the south and east of the
fields of glass-shard grass that covered the remains of the village of
Plethia. Once warm and sunny, the valley was now cold and still. Not even
the winds moved here anymore. Viona stared back over the sad remains of a
once thriving land as she climbed. She was certain that Zandark had built
his tower here. She and her three companions, Galana the elf, Pibbons the
thief, and the hero Macan, had been climbing for days. They followed the
thief's map to what they hoped would be the secret entrance to the tower.

A shout above her turned Viona's attention back up the mountain. Ahead of
the group, Pibbon's arm waved over an outcropping of rock.

"We've found it!"

Macan smiled at her when he heard the words. Pulling himself over the
outcropping, he helped the last two ascend to the flattened ledge where
Pibbons waited. In front of them was the secret door. The entrance was two
human heights tall, carved in the shape of a dragon's mouth open in a silent
roar. The door itself was made from sulferwood and braced by diamondsteel
brackets. Viona knew it would take all their strength just to get past this
first obstacle.

--

The wizard watched. A small smile played across his face as the incompetent
group threw themselves at the door. As a precaution, he had stationed a band
of sand orcs both inside the doorway and out of sight around them. Only
Viona would succeed in passing through the dragon's mouth. But then this was
what he had built the towers for. They were a symbol of his passion for the
beautiful and strong hero. They were the tests that proved her skill, her
bravery, and her passion for him. The bards always mistook the last part,
creating epics that explained the white streaks in Viona's black hair as the
price of facing the fearsome Wizard. But the two lovers knew the truth.

Lovers. That word gnawed at his twisted entrails like a festering sore. He
was Zandark, the evil wizard who had conquered the Urkali and the warlords
of the Balangadal. Who was he that he should have a weakness such as love?
Looking through the viewing portal, he sighed. By the demons she was
beautiful!

Zandark was so entranced watching the hero's struggle that he almost missed
the sudden flux of power that appeared in his audience chamber. Turning, the
wizard stretched out his arms and prepared to face the trespasser, but what
he saw stopped him cold.

A woman stood before him. Her dark grey skin shimmered like oiled marble.
Her thick black hair was braided and reached to her hips. She wore
crotch-high leather boots laced with the cured veins of blood lizards. Her
skintight blue blouse with its belled sleeves, woven by the long barren silk
elves, fit her like a cold embrace. The hem of the cropped garment reached
down to the bottom of her breasts, leaving bare her flawless belly down to
the edge of her iron thong, which was little more than a thin chain with a
metal plate covering her sex.

The woman regarded him. Her eyes could have been obsidian stones, dark and
featureless. After a moment of silence, the woman smiled, revealing her
sharpened teeth, milky white and translucent.

"Does my appearance please you, wizard?"

Zandark swallowed. Hulimetetchil was as he remembered her. He had been so
young the last time they had met. The Trollback hills had been too small to
support three powerful sorcerers. He had felt forced to make the first move,
ending their fragile alliance by burning Hulimetetchil's twin sister alive,
then crumbling her remains over the Baltthua sea. Hulimetetchil's rage at
his betrayal had been phenomenal, and Zandark had been weak, plunging her
into one of the lightless hell dimensions instead of snuffing her out like
the other. Now that youthful mistake had come back to bite him.

"No." he replied.

--

Viona ran through the wide halls of the tower. Her companions had remained
behind to fight off the orcs while Viona slipped through the gruesome guards
to seek out the wizard.

The warrior's breath frosted as she ran, despite the numerous torches along
the walls and the flames of the open hearths she passed. She wondered how
evil could ever be comfortable with the lack of warmth. Zandark himself,
though, was very warm. Touching his skin was like touching heated metal. At
least that was how it felt to Viona. With so much heat, did Zandark notice
the cold? Did he care?

Viona reached the end of the hall and jumped down the stairwell, several
steps at a time. The tower, she discovered, had been constructed within the
mountain rather than above it, forcing her to descend toward her enemy and
lover instead of ascending in her accustomed heroic manner to the dizzying
heights of the wizard's private lair. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes open
for the orcs, wraith knights, and the clouds of oil and fire beetles that
guarded each level.

She had made this search so many times that she allowed her mind to wander
as she ran. She wondered how the wizard would greet her. Would he demand the
ritual fight to protect her honor before he took her, or would he wrap his
clawed hands around her waist as she jumped into his arms? The warrior
pictured one of her favorite fantasies. Zandark would be gentle and
attentive. He would remove her leather armour slowly while his thick tongue
licked and scraped every inch of her vulnerable skin. Then, when he finally
took her, as a man takes a woman, she would look up into his eyes and see
her love reflected back. Viona blushed at the image. She was feeling much
warmer now.

--

Hulimetetchil's smile faltered. Zandark was even more breathtakingly
handsome than when he put her in her prison, and his rebuff wounded her.
Turning away from him, she studied the chamber. It was a domed circular room
eighty paces in diameter with high gothic arches along the circumference.
Entrances led through several of the arches. Inside the room was a ring of
statues ten feet tall, carved in the shape of demons supporting the stone
ring above them. At the center was a dais cut from a single piece of angel
granite.

"What do you want?" Zandark asked.

"You, my sister and me." she replied, "Do you remember the battlefields of
Acchlar? We decimated a continent. Even the whip dragons feared us. Do you
remember the winter we defeated the armies of Neighrol? All night we made
love on their ashes, their subjugation raising our passion to a higher
level?"

Zandark remembered. That was the night he filled Hulimetetchil with his
seed, claiming her as his, and altering the substance of her being. And that
he had done so with the sorceress' ignorance of her sister's death had
filled him with a cold delight. It would be a long time before he forgot
that night.

"Why are you here?" he repeated.

Hulimetetchil faced him again. "I want you," she whispered, stepping closer
to him. She reached forward and touched his chest through the fabric of his
shirt.

"I want you."

Pressing herself against him, the sorceress ran her hand down his side,
feeling the contours of his thigh, then back up to the object that had
claimed her centuries ago. Her breath caressed his neck and face as she
lifted her lips to his. The wizard responded, opening his mouth to devour
her tongue, but she paused.

"I want you dead!"

A flash of black power exploded between the sorcerers, throwing Zandark from
the dais. Wind from the woman's conjuring howled in his ears. Righting
himself, the wizard rose to the level of the stone ring. Concentrating, he
regenerated the burned flesh of his chest and lungs, as well as his
garments, then called upon his own evil magic.

"Is that your best, little child?" he laughed. "Those millennia made you
weak."

Hulimetetchil raised her face. "No. I've calculated your death countless
times. I will make it last!"

--

The Moonsword began to glow. Viona freed the weapon from the scabbard on her
back and held it as she turned another corner to enter a much larger hall.
The Moonsword was a weapon forged to destroy creatures of darkness. Its
blade absorbed evil magic and shed a brilliant blue light in its presence.
Viona believed the sword almost enjoyed the killing. At the moment it was
tugging her forward as if itching to get nearer whatever source of evil it
sensed.

Crossing through an archway at the far end of the hall, the warrior passed
through a narrow corridor lit only by the light from the blade. A wind
picked up as she came closer to the exit, and by the time she reached it,
she had to hold onto the edge to avoid being blown back into the tunnel.

The wind was a hurricane, blowing around a large circular room littered with
broken statues and blocks of stone. Debris hurtled past her, visible only
when flashes from the center of the room made shadows of the jagged pieces.

Directly in front of the warrior was one of the statues, still intact and
blocking her view of the chamber beyond. Taking a breath, Viona braced her
legs, then pushed forward into the wind, toward the statue. Tiny bits of
stone sliced through the unprotected flesh of her arms and legs as she
crossed, but she managed to avoid any greater injury.

Chest heaving, she crouched at the base of the statue and looked around it.
The wizard was here, floating several feet off the floor as he faced a
strange woman whose very body seemed to flicker and distort with the force
of the dark power she wielded. The black energy flowed around the two of
them, occasionally churning in flashes of brilliant white that struck with
lethal force, like lightning seeking the earth.

Viona watched. It seemed as if the two hadn't noticed she was here. The
woman's anger radiated from her in waves of darkness, scouring the chamber
where the two foes fought. Viona clung to the statue. She knew Zandark was
powerful, but watching the evil wizard defend himself against the woman's
onslaught gave her a new appreciation for him. Their power pulsed and tore
at one another. Zandark actually appeared to be enjoying himself. His hair
whipped around his handsome face, and his clothes clung to his toned body.
For as evil as Viona knew he was, she still admired his beauty. But it also
disturbed her. Not just because she was good and dedicated her life to
destroying his kind, but because of something far less heroic.

Viona recognized the wizard's lust. She saw it in the way his attention was
fixed on his opponent, in the sweep of his broad shoulders and in the way he
held out his limbs, both as an offering and as a dare.

Jealousy surged through the warrior. First she had found him with the
Empress of Ilesha. Then with the Demon Mother Aglala. Next were the women of
the Kilel-Elath, and later the Enchantress of Desolation. After the
Snake-Harlot, Viona thought they had come to an understanding, but looking
at Zandark, she guessed evil believed itself above fidelity.

Hulimetetchil's power flexed, and for a moment, the evil sorceress' image
wavered again, giving Viona a glimpse beyond the illusion to her real form.
Hulimetetchil was the same underneath, except that she was completely white.
Her white hair flowed around her white face and her ivory white skin glowed.
She was almost too bright to look at. Only her eyes remained the same,
obsidian pools focused with slitted concentration on Viona's lover.

The wind generated by the power exchange continued to whip around the three,
blowing Viona's own hair across her face. Raven black hair with streaks of
white.

With white.

--

Zandark heard the scream. Turning his attention, he saw Viona rushing toward
them. The warrior's face was a mask of rage burning brighter than the
Moonsword raised in her hands. Hulimetetchil noticed her too, and made the
same mistake as the wizard in assuming Viona was after her. Turning, she
splintered some of her power and directed it at the intruder.

But Viona was not after the sorceress. Her anger was directed completely at
her unfaithful lover. Zandark's protective force slammed into her moments
before Hulimetetchil's lethal strike. The combined shockwave threw the
warrior backward into one of the statues, where the wizard's power continued
to provide a shield against the stream of white hot energy pouring over her.

The chamber rumbled in Viona's ears. Behind her, the statue began to crumble
and melt, as did the floor beneath her. Through it all, the Moonsword glowed
brighter and brighter, as if feeding off the evil energy. She looked past
the swirled streaks of color cascading over her to where she knew Zandark
was standing. She caught a glimpse of him, staring back at her, a pained
expression on his face. "Let him hurt," she growled.

The warrior wasn't dying. Hulimetetchil kept her divided focus between the
wizard and the woman. Even with the strength of two evil sorcerers against
Viona, she refused to die. Zandark appeared troubled by this too. Both knew
they couldn't keep the energy up indefinitely. One of the three had to give.

Zandark groaned. More and more of his energy was pulling in to defend Viona,
while the sorceress' power only seemed to grow. All he could see of his
lover now was the blue light of her sword. It flashed like a beacon in the
center of the growing sphere of evil power swelling around its owner. The
wizard had to make a choice. Save Viona and allow himself to perish. Or turn
the last of his power on Hulimetetchil, and allow Viona to die. Zandark had
no time to savor the irony. Turning his full attention to the sorceress, he
made the only choice his nature allowed.

Viona could no longer see. She had become light. She didn't know how, but
she was still alive. The power surrounding her was slowly draining her.
Somehow, she knew that her Moonsword was the only thing holding her
together. The blue light filled her but it wasn't enough. Her grip on the
sword's handle was growing weak. It was only moments before she lost it
completely. She screamed at Zandark for making her love him. And she
screamed at her love for making her seek him again and again. Tears welled
in her eyes, but evaporated before they could fall. Taking the sword in both
hands, she held it to her chest. It's blue glow dimmed as if understanding
her silent request to let it end. Hulimetetchil had won. Let her have the
bastard, she thought. Cursing Zandark a final time, she thanked her
companions, and her sword, then closed her eyes.

--

The explosion shook the tower. A ball of blue light, as bright as the sun,
blasted through the solid stone of the mountain. For a moment it was hotter
than the hearts of a thousand fire dragons, burning through the interior of
the tower, leaving behind a single hollow chamber the length of the
mountain.

Galana stood when the vibrations of the explosion ceased. She was wounded,
but the goodness of the light had spared her as well as her companions.
Stepping to the inner edge of the entranceway, she stared down into the
chasm the tower had become. Her life magics detected nothing at first, but
then she sensed a faint lifeforce deep within. Galana sighed with relief.
She recognized that lifeforce. Viona had survived.

--

Zandark's nature wasn't what he had expected it to be. But that surprise was
nothing compared to his astonishment at remaining intact. Who knew the
Moonsword had that much power? The only thing that didn't surprise him was
his location. He was in a hell dimension.

The wizard laughed. Love was powerful. He hadn't imagined that one of the
few unselfish acts in his long life would be the one that saved him. Using
the last of his power, Zandark had opened a portal around the sorceress and
cast her through it. His body was supposed to reseal the portal. It was the
final gift to the warrior he loved. Instead, the sword had done it for him.

The dimension was silent and dark. Reaching out, he touched smooth stone.
Zandark scowled. Traces of the sorceress lingered in the wall. If
Hulimetetchil had survived, she wouldn't be happy at finding herself back
home. Zandark grinned. His black heart lightened with the knowledge that he
had triumphed over two powerful foes in one day. Now he only had to find his
own way out before the sorceress found him.

It would be a long journey.


--
celia batau's story site: http://www.myplanet.net/pinataheart/stories.htm.

Viona and Zandark are (C)2002 Shon Richards.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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