This is for the people asking for a sequel to "Bloody Awful Poetry"
, to tide you over while I'm thinking of where I want to go now that I finally finished posting the thing, two years after I actually finished writing it. This particular ficlet has been in my head for about a year, and I only just got around to actually writing it.
Takes place during the last break of Denouement
, when there is a POV switch
Demons are Joss's. Magic is JK's.
You are floating in a pitch black void, an obsidian abyss where you are utterly, absolutely alone, the only being in existence, a universe of one.
You are dead.Next Great Adventure?
But you had to die, remember?
The parasitic piece of the psychopathic megalomaniac’s soul had to be destroyed, and dying was the only way to do it. Let’s just hope this works.
You had snuck off the school grounds one spring night in May and apparated to London where you asked the Barbeque Fork Murderer to do his/her/it’s thing. You had expected it to hurt, but it hadn’t, not really, just a prick, then a descent into oblivion.
What’s that? When will it happen?
Any time now.
You see the void? How it’s not quite as black as it was before, how it’s taking on a reddish tinge? Means they’re coming. Brace yourself. It might hurt.
You feel their arrival rather than see them, their claws digging into you, fighting over your body, fighting over the right to inhabit your flesh.
Then you feel it: a protective surge from within, throwing them back. You feel their fear and relish in it.
Wait! Control yourself. Don’t scare them away, you need them, remember? Otherwise you’re nothing more than just another corpse ravaged by the wild dogs that roam the back alleys of London.
The surge subsides, still, they are wary of you. They can feel it simmering just below the surface of your skin.
You challenge them. Great big scary demons afraid of an eensy little bit of magic. Is there not one among them that is demon enough to get through your magic and evict your soul?
You feel them shift uncomfortably. They can sense the delicious purity of your soul, and the spicy grain of evil around which it has grown, but the protective buzzing of your magic gives them pause.
Then you feel it.
One claw, digging into your chest.
Your magic surges towards the intrusion, seeking to expel it.
It stops for a second, tenses, then pushes forward.
You feel a second, then a third, then a fourth claw join it, then the entire hand as it persists against the barrier set upon it by your magic, slowly but surely moving past it.
It reaches into your very core and rips.
Nothingness becomes a crimson haze. You sag, exhausted by a fight that intellectually you had no desire to pursue but instinctually could not avoid. You feel empty, and in a sense you are. Your magic flags for a second, but that is all the opening the Demon needs to leap into the hole where your soul once resided.
You feel your magic slam back up, but it’s too late, the Demon has taken residence. It glares at your magic, your magic glares back. They come to an agreement. It is your Demon now, your magic.
The void slips away. Soon you will arise a new man.
There you have it. If anyone has any suggestions on where I could go in a possible sequel to BAP
, let me know. Right now I'm thinking of a possible series of vignettes similar to this and Denouement, I don't really have any ideas that could develop into a comprehensive chaptered story.