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Sevarius

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This story is No. 3 in the series "A Place to Call Home". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Inside every one of us, there exists a dark side. Most people rise above it, but some are consumed by it. Until there is nothing left, but pure evil. *WARNING* NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART! EXTREMELY DARK! FURTHER WARNINGS WITHIN

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Cartoons > GargoylesMsSunshineFR2112,1930251513 May 1013 May 10No

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Story Title: Sevarius -- Child Development
Description: Inside every one of us, there exists a dark side. Most people rise above it, but some are consumed by it. Until there is nothing left, but pure evil. *WARNING* NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART! EXTREMELY DARK! FURTHER WARNINGS WITHIN
Pairing: None
Warnings: the mistreatment and torture of animals, disturbing sexual discovery, bullying and child abuse
Timeline: A prequel to the events of “Metamorphosis” Episode 15 of the Gargoyles
Author’s Note: There are no great details given about Anton Sevarius’ life prior to him becoming Xanatos’ employee. To better understand future actions, his past needs an explanation even if it’s dirty, ugly and just plain wrong. This is how it is people, please deal with it. Also, I’m no great scientist so if I used any of the theories given here in an incorrect manner, I apologize. Comments and reviews are greatly welcomed as I am currently working without a Beta.
Standard Disclaimer: All medical information found at Wikipedia. The Gargoyles premise and characters are distributed by Buena Vista Home Entertainment, Inc © Disney and created by Greg Weisman. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer premise and characters are distributed by 20th Century Fox, The WB, UPN and created by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy (Grr, Arg). Rob Zombie’s Halloween premise and characters are distributed by Dimension Films and MGM and created by Rob Zombie and John Carpenter. The story, all names, characters and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings and products is intended or should be inferred. “Some assembly required.”





Life started out badly for Anton. His father was shot and killed during a drug raid and his mother left him in the kitchen appliances section of the local Walmart (never to be seen again) before he turned three. He became a ward of the state and though he had genius level intelligence, this went unnoticed.

He was easily bored by the school curriculum and often stared into space or wrote furiously into one of his many notebooks. He spent every available waking hour in the local library suffusing his brain with all of the information that he could get his hands on. Math, science, biology, chemistry, physics. There was no subject that he couldn’t get enough of. When he was eight, he became firmly enraptured by the field of genetics.

He became fascinated with the possibility of combining a series of animals to create one greater whole. The hyena had been the creature that had caused his interest. It was the one creature in the animal world that seemed to defy all genetic boundaries. They had the gait of a bear, the outward appearance of a wolf, and the matriarchal system of horses. Its group structure, competition and cooperation was similar to that of primates. Also the strength of its jaw was immensely disproportionate to its size and its digestive enzymes were comparable to certain corrosive acids in their ability to breakdown skin, teeth, horns and bones. And it was a relative to the mongoose, of all creatures.

He had hundreds of theories on the subject of rapid cloning and cellular mutation. Dozens of his notebooks were filled to bursting with the equations. On paper all of his ideas were perfectly sound. The only problem was that medical science and the current level of technology had been insufficient to support his claims. Not that anybody ever heard or read about his theories.

The kids at school tormented him for his apparent absentmindedness and his teachers had him written off as a lost cause. He never spoke up in class and he rarely turned in any homework assignments (when he did they were half hearted and usually incomplete). The only thing that kept him from being held back year after year was the grade challenge. His superb test scores compelled his principal to advance him each and every time.

But, still, each night (as each day he stayed buried in the books of the library) he would return to his current residence with fresh bruises and scrapes. His thick glasses were always bent or broken and held together with duct tape -- at least until he would get the supplies he needed to replace them once again. The one time he had requested a foster parent get them fixed he had found himself with a broken arm and back in the system by the following day. He didn’t even bother to acknowledge the questioning looks his guardians gave him now. As far as they knew, he couldn’t even speak.

A pattern continued until he was just about twelve years old. To school for six hours (where he was bullied, beaten, or ignored), to the library for five (to go over books that he had read twice over already), and to his guardian’s home for eight (for another sleepless night staring up at a cracked and discolored ceiling). The time in between he spent walking. Walking through the woods to get to the school (and punched in the gut) and through the parking lot to get to the library (and looted for change) and across the overpass to get back to his bed each night (and smacked over the back of the head or across the cheek). It was a routine that he had grown to expect and despise in equal measures.

His days as a bullied kid ended the day that he found a wounded dog lying in the woods on his way to school one morning. His grade five English final instantly forgotten at the grotesque sight, he fell to his knees at the animal’s side. The thing was struggling to breathe and attempting (without any success) to move away from him. Like most animals that Anton had interacted with in the past, it seemed to sense that there was something wrong about him.

Anton was enthralled by the sight of it all. The blood seeping from its many wounds, the bone protruding at an awkward angle from its chest, the shine of the intestines slowly falling out of their proper place within the dog. His breath came in sharp gasps that quickly fogged his glasses and a strange sensation -- like butterfly wings as they brushed over his skin -- tingled low in his belly.

Of course he had read all the biology books that he could get his hands on. He knew about reproduction and the physical manifestation of the arousal caused by chemicals released in the brain, it just never occurred to him to connect what he was feeling with what he had read. Over the past few weeks he had been subject to the odd erection upon waking up for the day (which quickly deflated upon his noticing it) but his penis had never even twitched while he had been conscious before. He had no idea what the stirrings of arousal should feel like. And he most definitely had never expected to feel it at as grisly a sight as this (not that he expected it at all).

He reached out to the dog without thinking and it flinched away from him. Ignoring the thing’s attempt to deter him, Anton ran his hands over its muzzle across its back and over its rear flank. The dog (a female, he realized) twitched and shivered in terror and pain beneath him. She started to growl when he shifted her front paw forward to better investigate her injuries but it quickly tapered out into a long and high pitched whine.

One of her legs was almost completely torn from her body. She was losing a lot of blood. If nothing was done, she would soon be dead. And considering just how beautiful she looked in that moment, Anton was tempted to just sit back and watch. But he couldn’t let an opportunity such as this one pass him by. This was his chance to let some of the many things that he had read about be put into practice.

Quickly, he pulled several things out of his backpack. First: the industrial sized first aid kit that he never left home without. Second: one of the two biology books that he had been reading (the one that held a short chapter on animal husbandry and veterinary science). And third: a case of authentic (and wickedly sharp) scalpels. The third had been the hardest for him to get his hands on. Not having a license to perform surgery, he had been forced to forge a new (and much older) identity and with a little luck had finally gotten his knives. He had intended to use them on the classroom pet (an aging rat that took too much pleasure in biting Anton every chance that it got).

This was his chance. His chance to mimic what nature had done in the hyena. If only he had something else -- some other creature -- with which to work his genius. It took him only a moment’s work to locate -- and render unconscious -- a second subject. And he immediately set to work. The hardest part (besides putting all of the dog’s insides to their original places) was the intricate work connecting all of the tendons and nerve endings. He hadn’t all of the tools necessary and had had to resort to using a less than adequate magnifying glass to assist his already deficient vision.

In the end, the raccoon died -- he had hit it just a little too hard over the head. He didn’t consider this to be a bad thing, though. It was an excellent opportunity to study live (huh, figuratively at least) anatomy. He laid the thing out and split it open from the neck down to the groin. There had been some difficulty removing the ribs. He had resorted to kicking them in to break them into more manageable pieces then prying them out with a thick stick. The lungs had been perforated and the sack that held the heart had ruptured but he had learned more in dissecting that animal than he had in weeks of investigating biology books. Sketched diagrams were nothing compared to holding an actual organ -- still warm from the body he had taken it from -- in his hands. His only disappointment had been his inability to examine the animal’s brain. He hadn’t the tools necessary to break open the skull without damaging the tissue inside.

The dog lived -- if one could call the state she was in living. He moved her away from the scene of his impromptu emergency room operating table and tied her to a tree. Her limbs jerked from time to time -- twitching with the pain that she was so obviously in. Every few minutes or so, a soft whine escaped her even in her mostly unconscious state.

It was as he came out from behind the bushes that hid the dog that he was found. The boys that had tormented him for years took in the sight and smell of him with astonished eyes. Anton was covered nearly from head to toe in blood. The scent of perspiration and decomposition clung to his pores. Animal excrement stained his legs and shoes. Worst of all, his erect penis stood out plainly through the thin shorts he wore to battle the early summer heat.

One of the boys -- the most vicious of the lot of them -- turned and vomited on the shoes of his younger brother. The others were all either green in the face or paler then death depending on their individual constitutions. In Anton’s hand was the scalpel he had used to cut the string remaining after he had repaired a popped seam on the dog. Upon noticing the knife -- nearly at exactly the same time -- the bullies all turned and ran.

Of course none of the teachers or parents believed them when they told. Anton was always perfectly behaved -- if a little condescending with his peers. He was never violent and, while he never warmed to the presence of animals, he certainly never treated them cruelly. He was a mediocre student that made his way by the skin of his teeth. Certainly an eleven year old hadn’t the capacity to do whatever those other boy had accused him of. And, most definitively, there was no evidence to support the other boys’ claims.

Anton was simply glad to be rid of the constant bullying. While the adults had shunned the idea, his fellow students all seemed to think it a natural course of events for him to be some kind of butcher. They avoided him as if he was death itself. He played the part of wrongly accused whenever an adult was near but always gave subtle hints to his classmates at what he was truly capable of when none were within hearing distance.

The power of it was thrilling.

Though his experiment failed (the dog died of infection only days after; thick green ichor trailed between the lines of his sutures) he knew that he had stepped onto a path that would forever guide him towards his life’s work. There was nothing he couldn’t do with the aid of scalpel, needle and string. And one day he would create a masterpiece unlike any other. One that would rival even nature’s own work.

The End?

The author is currently looking for one or more beta readers for this story. If you are interested, please email the author or leave a private review.

You have reached the end of "Sevarius" – so far. This story is incomplete and the last chapter was posted on 13 May 10.

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