Pure Imagination

I really am not a fan of Author's prefacing their work with explanations as long as the story, so I will be brief.

I love the world of fantasy and magic. Here's the beginning of my first attempt at creating one. It's taking me forever to write each episode so if you find it interesting, please bear with me.

The episodes will of necessity be long, and sex will not feature much until later in the narrative, so as I once read somewhere, if that's not your cup of tea please go buy a coffee.

I hope you enjoy this tale as much as I am enjoying writing it. Please leave feedback, I learn from it. All I ask is that you are polite and constructive. This writing lark is harder than it looks!

With love,

Phil. January 2021.

Summer 1991

The Master’s door crashed open hitting the wall behind it with such force that two bottles of hard won Baylit were bounced from their shelf. Hitting the floor they smashed, releasing precious liquid that oozed across the floor hissing and bubbling. A thick green mist rose from the viscous fluid, filling the room with it’s sweet, cloying scent. The unfortunate Faerie who had so hurriedly entered the room causing the release of the innocuous looking fog stumbled as it filled his lungs. Within moments suppurating boils appeared on his lips and his eyes turned a bright, luminous yellow. The Master acted quickly. A flick of his fingers, secret words spoken under his breath and………

The Master’s door crashed open hitting the wall behind it with such force that two bottles of hard won Baylit were bounced from their shelf. Given the dangerous nature of the liquid it was indeed fortunate that The Master was standing by the shelf ready to catch the bottles before they hit the ground and smashed. The Faerie who had entered the room in such a hurry paused. For a brief moment, less than the time it takes for the mind to tell black from white,  he had the disconcerting feeling that something bad was about to happen. He touched his lips with cautious fingers before scanning the room for the ancient mage.

A cough from behind alerted him to where the Master stood. He had a broad smile on his heavily lined and weathered face, a bottle of green liquid in each hand. Twix quickly bowed in deference to the powerful magician, who, in a deep, resonant voice welcomed him to his workroom. ‘Twix my boy, what news requires such haste?’

Twix was hardly a boy, he was over two hundred years old. To the human eye he looked less than twenty. It was one of the benefits of being Faerie. Malcolm, the magician was as old as time itself. Of course Malcom wasn’t his real name but as no one alive today would be able to pronounce it he had chosen a human name. A nice, ordinary, easy to speak name. His old, original name would be used again, one day, but it was a day he dreaded. On that day, a day that drew closer with every passing minute, he would be helping others to save the world and all who lived on it from the darkness of the Murnchnik a being so ancient and powerful, so malevolent and blood thirsty that he couldn’t guarantee even the power contained in his real name would be strong enough to contain it. Twix’s news brought the fateful day closer still.

‘Mistress Mivell says to tell you they’re coming.’

All colour drained from Malcolm’s face. The Millenia he had spent turning the world away from this moment crashed over him. He rallied quickly, knowing he could show no weakness. His magic had delayed the inevitable for longer than anyone had thought possible.

‘Did she say where?’

‘The first one will be in Derby. In England’

‘England! Now I didn’t foresee that. I thought it would be somewhere younger. Somewhere less full of Time.’ He saw the look of confusion on his young apprentice’s face. Malcolm smiled reassuringly. ‘And the second?’

‘She says she can’t see him yet. She thinks he is being hidden.’

‘Hidden eh? That’s not good.’ He looked troubled as he placed the bottles back on their shelf. ‘Come young Twix, Let us make haste to Derby. We have a wonder to witness.’

* * * *

His wife had been in labour for thirty two hours now, and there was still no sign that the child was going to be born any time soon. She looked exhausted and he knew she would hate that he was seeing her in her present state. He had fallen in love with the beautiful woman he was proud to call his wife the very first time he saw her. His father had been horrified when he met her. Despite her beauty and intelligence she had failed to win him over, and she had tried, they both had. The night before their wedding he had been summoned to the old man’s study. It was a dark, foreboding room dominated by an enormous solid mahogany desk bigger than the average household’s dinner table. Deep brown leather sofas, walls full of dusty, never read, old books, thick woollen rugs and floor to ceiling maroon drapes combined to make it the most dismal, colourless space he knew.

Indicating the leather wing chair opposite his desk, his father was as direct as always. He wasted nothing, words were no exception. ‘Sit down boy.’

He knew why he was here and he was damned if he was going to submit to the old bastard again. ‘I’ll stand thank you.’ Two pairs of steel grey eyes locked in battle across the wide expanse between them. The massive desk was the physical representation of the gulf that separated father from son. Apart from their eyes and hair colour, the two men had absolutely nothing else in common. One was proud, arrogant and stubborn, used to always getting his own way, the other was kind, solid, dependable and strong. His bully of a father was about to discover just how strong.

‘I said sit down.’ The voice was low, threatening.

‘And I said I’d rather stand.’ Neither man blinked. Minutes seemed like hours as the young buck, after twenty five years of kow-towing, finally challenged the old bull. It was the latter that looked away first.

‘There is too much of your mother in you boy. Too much for your own good.’

‘Sooner that than the alternative. And I’m not a boy father, please stop referring to me as such.’

No one ever spoke to Viscount Alexander Michael Barrington Dean as his son just had. People quaked in fear at the feet of the powerful autocrat. He had destroyed men for less.

‘How dare you speak to me like that. You forget yourself,’ he paused, an evil, provocative smile formed at his thin lips. ‘Boy!’

Michael, for that was his son’s preferred name chosen from the six his father had ostentatiously saddled him with at birth, turned and walked to the door. His father’s voice thundered after him.

‘Walk out of that door boy, and you and that black bitch you claim to love can go to hell.’

Michael paused, his hand on the door handle. All of his life he had feared his father’s censure knowing nothing he did would ever be good enough, that the demands placed on him from birth were deliberately unachievable and that the old man blamed him for his mother’s death. Then a year ago he had met Lara. She became the light in his darkness, banishing all doubt in his own abilities, giving him hope for the future. He discovered love. It amazed him, lifting him from the bleakness of the life he had known into bright days filled with sun and warmth. She became the centre of his world, no, she was his world, and no one, especially not the evil man that was his father, was going to be allowed to refer to her in any disparaging or disrespectful manner. When he spoke, his voice was hard, filled with ice and warning.

‘Hear this old man.’ He turned his head just enough so that he could look his tormentor in the face. ‘Use words like that again to describe the woman I love and they will be the last thing you say.’

‘You think I’m afraid of you boy? What should I call her then? Money grabber? Nigger? Whore? A black bitch is what she is and what she always will be.’

What colour there was drained from his father’s face. The old man felt his throat constrict. Words choked in his mouth. Each breath he took became laboured, painful. His hands clutched at his neck in a vain attempt to release the pressure crushing it.

The last thing he saw were the eyes of his son. Eyes as black as coal, shining with a power that terrified him. Just as the realisation of his offspring’s power and abilities registered in his panic stricken mind, he was propelled by an unseen force into the imposing chair many had compared to a throne. What breath he had left was driven from him. He used his eyes to plead with his frightening son for release, tears of desperation ran down trembling cheeks.

Michael never took his sightless gaze from the old man. The thrill of unlimited power and energy coursed through his body. The air around him crackled and pulsed. The vice on his father’s neck tightened Sobs of fear and desperation wracked the broken man he had feared for so long. He left the office, quietly closing the door behind him.

Michael buried his father a week after he married his precious Lara. The old man’s death certificate recorded cause of death as a heart attack.

The memory of his father’s final minutes was drowned out by a piercing cry. The cry of an indignant baby, torn from the warmth and safety of its mother’s womb into a cold, disorienting world. The cry was silenced when the child was placed against his mother’s breast and the hungry mouth found the rich, nourishing milk that would sustain him in the months ahead.

Michael heard a commotion coming from the corridor outside the delivery room just before the door opened to reveal the oldest man he had ever seen. Behind him was a tall, thin woman with unruly white hair and a large nose that gave her the countenance of a stork or heron stalking its prey in the shallows. Holding her hand was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. A glow of goodness – yes he thought, goodness – emanated from the slight body. Common sense told him these three strange beings should not be invading his wife’s birthing room but the force inside him, the one he had used to kill his evil father, told him they were safe and welcome.

* * * *

‘Lord Dean?’ The old, but surprisingly spritely old man spoke hurriedly. ‘We haven’t met Sir, my name is Malcolm. I’ve come here with Melinda and Twix to ensure your son is kept safe. But of course you know that.’ Confusion covered Michael’s face. ‘Look inside yourself Lord Dean, be still and look inside.’

Something about the old man compelled Michael to do as he had been told. He moved to the side of the room, took a deep, calming breath, exhaled slowly and concentrated on the small bundle snuggling Lara’s breast.

The world around him slowed down and stopped. Nurses were frozen in mid action. The drink of water being poured for Lara shimmered and vibrated but ceased it’s transfer from jug to glass. The only things that continued normal movement were the sucking of his son on his mother’s teat, and the mumblings of the old man.

A breeze caressed his face, became a hand that rested lightly on his cheek. The air beside him moved, seeming to fold into itself. He saw a woman. She moved as the air moved, insubstantial yet solid. Hers was the hand holding his face. He knew her, had seen pictures of her. ‘Mother?’ He heard himself speak yet knew his mouth had emitted no sound. The beautiful woman smiled and nodded. ‘You can hear me?’ Again, he heard his voice but his lips remained closed, his tongue at rest in his mouth. Everything around him was wrong, not normal. He should be panicking, freaking out even, and yet he felt serenely calm. His eyes were fixed on the image standing beside him, acknowledging the warmth radiating from it, from her. ‘How is this possible?’ The spirit of his mother touched her chest, her heart, then brought her hand back to his face. He felt a slight movement within himself and a tear of pure happiness ran down his cheek as he heard the voice of the woman who had given birth to him  for the first time.

‘Love, Michael. Love makes many things possible.’ The ghostly image shifted to the side of the bed, to look down on her grandson. ‘He looks just as you did.’

‘But you died before I was born. You never saw me.’

The beatific smile broadened, her face turned to her son. ‘I saw you my love. I see you every day.’ Michael’s struggle to understand was screaming from his bright grey eyes. ‘Only my body died Michael. You ensured my essence stayed with you. I have been with you since you took your first breath.’ Her gaze returned to the bed. ‘Your wife is beautiful. She is strong in spirit. You chose well. You make a formidable shield for your son. He will find it hard to reach him with your combined love and strength. But he can still reach him. You must always be on guard against him. The world will suffer if he takes him.’

Two warm hands held his face, air, almost like breath moved over his mouth. ‘Trust Malcolm my son. Trust and believe him.’

The image faded and disappeared with another folding of the air, and yet he still felt her. Still held her love inside his heart. He turned to Malcolm, was about to speak when he felt another presence trying to enter the room. This one felt different, threatening, malevolent. This one stirred anger in him and a determination to repel it. He knew he had to protect his infant son from whatever approached.

It wanted his son. Needed his son.

‘NOOOOOO.’ He shouted, his voice as loud as thunder. Blackness covered his grey eyes and a power unimaginable flew from his hands to cocoon the room. His body shook with the energy it controlled.

‘No.’ He spoke low, deep, from his very soul. ‘You shall not have him.’

Malcolm sensed enormous anger beating against the shield Michael had thrown around them. Evil pervaded the very air. The door shook, walls moved as though made from rubber. The window smashed into a million tiny pieces only to reform, better and stronger, able to withstand all the entity attempting entry could throw at it.

Michael began to glow. Dull red quickly became bright yellow then a searing, blinding whiteness exploded to fill the room. His black eyes shone huge and powerful as he threw his arms wide and roared with a force that punched the evil beyond the room into near oblivion. The scream of fury uttered by the Being as Michael threw it back to Hell curdled Malcolm’s blood.

The war had begun. He knew the Murnchnik would return. Next time it would be bigger, more powerful, perhaps unstoppable.

Summer 2018

Rob Carter stood centre stage bathing in the adulation of over a quarter of a million people. Headlining the Summer in the Park concerts at Hyde Park was a dream come true. His people had told him he would draw a crowd but this was the biggest ever. He was used to performing in stadiums holding almost as many people but this was different, less rehearsed, more dangerous. He had loved every minute of it. Slated to sing for two hours he had overrun by thirty five minutes. High on the adrenaline pumping through his system he had never felt more alive. An unseen power seemed to fill the air, never had he felt so in control. Looking out over the park he raised his arm in a salute to the thousands clapping, cheering, screaming.

The night had been warm and dry, a gentle breeze allowing comfort. His performance and that of his band and orchestra had been flawless. At the top of his game, Rob was as happy as he had ever been. All he lacked was someone to share his joy with. Rarely seen in public without the latest super model or beautiful actress on his arm, in private he was a solitary soul, quiet and introverted. The man his fans saw was his alter-ego, brash, outgoing and super confident never allowing the loneliness he always felt inside to be seen. Not even his friends in the band or his manager of the last ten years knew who he really was. The only person to have seen his real self, had been his mother. How he wished she could have lived to see him today, strutting his stuff and, as a fellow performer once stated, ‘hitting it out of the ballpark.’

A rumble of heavy thunder drowned out the noise coming from the assembled masses. Bright, blinding flashes of red lightening streaked across the sky. Red lightening? What the f…? An explosion rent the air as one of the lighting rigs took a direct hit, glass falling on those below, injuring many. People close to the explosion began to panic, the frightened screams of tens of thousands filled the air. Hail stones the size of marbles pummelled down on unprotected heads. The lightening swirled overhead, another bolt landed close to the stage setting curtains ablaze. More and more jolts of energy hit the ground, hurting those close to the impacts.

Rob looked up, the thunder roared in his head. A searing flash filled his vision heading right for him. He should have been terrified but instead a feeling of calm surrounded him. A large black dog walked calmly from the wings and lay at his master’s feet. Never taking his eyes from the lightning bolt travelling towards him, Rob raised the microphone to his lips and began to sing:

Come with me and you’ll be 

In a world of pure imagination

Take a look and you’ll see

Into your imagination

Time stopped. The air around him crackled and pulsed. With a flick of his hand the lightning that had been set to fry him alive simply disappeared.

We’ll begin with a spin

Travelling in the world of our creation

What we’ll see will defy explanation.

He felt a kindred force join with him allowing his voice to soar above the storm’s violence and noise.

The power of his music grew and grew, lifting the heavy black clouds higher and higher, preventing the few bolts of pure red evil that still flashed within it from coming to earth.

If you want to view paradise

Simply look around and view it

Anything you want to, do it

Want to change the world?

There’s nothing to it

His pure, commanding voice took control of all present. The screams stopped, panic was stilled. Warmth and comfort began to replace the iron cold malice that had attacked so viciously.

Louder still his voice ranged across the park filling it with joy and comfort.

There is no life I know

To compare with pure imagination

A lone violin began to accompany him, its clarity piercing the menacing clouds above, ripping them to windblown shreds that scurried away across the star filled sky.

Living there you’ll be free

If you truly wish to be. 

The small orchestra he had included in his concert at the last minute took up the melody sending it’s calm message of hope across the nation’s capital. Million’s heard the stirring chords, millions more would claim to have.

As the final beautiful note travelled upwards and outwards dispelling the last remnants of the hate filled storm, Rob turned to look at the source of the power that had seamlessly joined with him. His eyes went straight to a man who stood alone in the centre of a wide circle cleared of people. No one else but Rob saw him and what he saw took his breath away, the connection he felt filling him with a need, a desire, to hold the man in his arms, to kiss the parted lips, to….. He shook his head, closed his eyes. What the fuck was he thinking? He was many things to many people, but Rob Carter was not gay. He did not lust after other men. He certainly didn’t want to fuck one.

An arm fell across his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. Panic flew through his mind and he forcefully pushed the would be comforter away. He looked again at the man in the circle. Where? What? He was gone, only the shadow of the energy he had felt remaining to assure his racing thoughts that he hadn’t been dreaming.

‘Rob man.’ The concerned voice of Gary, his manager cut through to him, pulling him back from the hole of despair and loss he felt about to engulf him. He smiled weakly, reaching out to his trusted friend. Gary’s arms held him tight helping him to recentre his world. ‘What happened Rob? That was crazy.’ The look of wonder in Gary’s eyes was mirrored in everyone he saw looking at him. He stared questioningly at the man who helped to run his life. ‘That song. Your voice. How did you do it?’

Rob shook his head, not understanding. ‘What?’

‘You filled the air man. Just you.’

‘I’m sorry Gary, I don’t know what you mean.’

‘The PA system. The amps, speakers, everything, they took the first hit. That shit killed all the power.’ Gary put his hands on Rob’s shoulders, brought his forehead to rest on his. He spoke quietly. ‘Everyone, and I mean everyone heard you Rob. That song. Where did that come from mate? It was awesome. I can still hear it. Look, I’m covered in goose bumps. You filled the air with the sound of love Rob. That’s the only way I can describe what happened. How the fuck did you do it?’

Standing tall, upright, strong, Rob looked up at the sky then down to where his unknown accomplice had stood. ‘I don’t know Gary, I honestly don’t know.’

The Murnchnik

The Harding Tower was the tallest building in London, dwarfing The Shard by over two hundred metres. For the first time since it’s completion twelve months ago the bright red light at its pinnacle was dark. Engineers scurried from power cable to junction box and back again desperately trying to get the damn thing working again. The strange thing was, no one could work out what power network actually powered it.

The huge Penthouse that occupied the entire top floor was also dark, the only light coming from the full moon. The shadow of a man stood at one of the floor to ceiling windows that formed the sides of the huge complex. Every few minutes his shape seemed to shift from human to ………… something else. Something indescribable. Something that once seen, however briefly, you wanted to instantly forget but never could. The stench of gut wrenching evil filled the air and it emanated from the form staring out over the city it had tried and failed to destroy.

It’s hatred for the men who had thwarted him was palpable, visceral. All the power at his disposal had been as naught once the two Guardians had combined. No matter what it cost he would destroy one or both of them. Nothing on this disgusting, self-obsessed planet could be allowed to stand in his way. NOTHING!

Rob heard the screaming roar as he entered the rear compartment of his limousine. Instinct told him the sound was heard only by him and one other. No matter what it took, he would find his mysterious ally if only to find out what the bloody hell was going on.

Two hours later the red light at the pinnacle of the Harding Tower came back on. The shadowy figure that inhabited the top floor was nowhere to be found.

Rob

Gary didn’t stop talking from the moment they closed the car doors to when they opened again at the hotel. A thousand and one questions filled his head from how was Rob able to sing so loudly and powerfully without the aid of a sound system, to where did he get that ‘awesome’ song from. The storm and all that accompanied it weren’t mentioned once which Rob found rather odd.

‘What do you think of the storm Gary?’

‘What? That bit of thunder and lightning? Listen if that bolt hadn’t come to earth via our electrics we wouldn’t even have noticed it.’

‘And the people who were hurt?’

‘Yeah, well, that’s sort of tragic. But I still don’t get how you sang like that without a mike.’

‘Perhaps it had something to do with the atmospherics. Who knows!’ If truth were told, the introvert Rob was shitting bricks. What the hell just happened? And Gary’s right, how the fuck did I sing like that? And why that song? The last time he’d heard it had been on a Streisand album. What prompted him to sing that song? But the question that troubled him most was who was the man in the circle and why did he get hard just thinking about him?

He exited the car and headed straight for the hotel entrance his big black dog by his side. With a foot inside the door he felt himself being asked to turn around, to look across the road. It was a request he found he couldn’t refuse, and there he was, large as life and gut wrenchingly beautiful. The man from the circle. Rob ran to him like a teenage school girl chasing her first crush. Four feet from him he stopped. The man smiled, ‘Hello Rob. Good to meet you at last.’

Rob’s beginning

The island was so small, few knew of its existence and if they did, they certainly had no knowledge of its use and importance. A small community of misfits had inhabited it for centuries. Despite its isolation and the hardships they endured because of it, those who lived there were happy with their lot. Their homes were almost as old as the island, built from its ancient rock. Beneath its surface was a myriad of caves and tunnels, some stretching far out under the ocean. Created by some of the most powerful magicians and warlocks the Earth had known, it was a place of safety, protected by magic and Nature’s natural obstacles.

It was here, on the same night as Michael’s son that Rob Carter, as the world would later know him, entered the world kicking and screaming. Those in attendance knew he was one of the two Guardians born that fateful night and both they and the rest of the Island’s small community used all the power they could draw from the crashing ocean to cast an impenetrable cloak over his arrival. The old midwife who helped his mother through her difficult labour had been forced to use spells unuttered for generations to ensure both mother and child survived, spells so powerful and demanding of sacrifice that their use shortened the young woman’s life by over half. She didn’t care, the child must survive at all costs and he needed the strength only his mother’s milk could provide. It had been a tense and trying night for everyone.

A year on and the child was blooming. He talked at six months old and by his first birthday was constructing coherent sentences. His blonde, almost white hair, allied with pale, flawless skin that never took colour from the sun and piercingly blue eyes meant he never went unnoticed.

As he grew he developed a physical strength unnatural for someone so young. Swift legs carried him from place to place as fast as the birds could fly. He swam with dolphins and the occasional basking shark in the bracing seas. The few mammals on the island seemed to seek him out and his best friend became a black dog born on his tenth birthday. Child and pup were inseparable from the moment they set eyes on each other. They slept, ate, ran, swam, played and learned together. He named the small black bundle of mischief Ozzie after his friend and mentor, the most powerful Warlock on the island. It was a good choice, for the dog would live as long as the child, seeing him through his difficult teenage years to manhood and beyond. His age was never questioned, his love and loyalty never in doubt. With each year that passed Ozzie became more and more powerful in his own right. His magic and power came from the Earth itself. The thickly coated dog’s purpose was twofold. Firstly to provide his young master with a friend and protector above all save one, and secondly to provide the man his friend would become with all the power the Earth could give.

On his sixteenth birthday Rob left the island for the first time travelling to the mainland via fishing boat with his dog and mother. The community he left behind had done all they could to shield him from the evil searching the world for him. He had all the skills, both practical and magical they could teach him. Over time his power would grow, there was nothing more anyone could do to prepare him for his future other than wait, watch and be ready for when he needed them.

The minute Rob’s foot touched the dock of the small Scottish fishing village at the end of their journey from the island of magic, all memory of it was erased from his mind. One day it would return, but only when he faced an enemy determined on his destruction.

The family of mother, son and dog settled in Edinburgh, a city of age and Time. A city that fed his growing power without him knowing. They settled into a quiet life, keeping themselves to themselves. Rob attended sixth form college achieving A+ grades in all subjects studied. The natural progression would have been for him to attend one of the several major elite universities he had been offered a place at, and but for the intervention of fate, or perhaps magic, that is what he would have done. One of the world’s biggest talent shows was to hold auditions in the city and for reasons only made clear to him ten years later, he applied. Like every other hopeful he queued for his chance to shine, but unlike most, as soon as he had finished singing he was told he was going forward to the televised auditions to be held in the Edinburgh Playhouse later that week.

Rob’s subsequent appearance before the full auditorium and the four famous judges of Britain’s Got Talent became legend, catapulting him to overnight fame.

The day had seen its usual parade of second rate performances and toe curling embarrassments. Both audience and judges had seen enough, the atmosphere in the theatre was unsettled and somewhat raucous. The last act of the now very late night was ushered from the wings. Rob crossed to the front and centre of the stage, holding his battered old six string guitar in his hand. He calmly looked out over the sea of bored faces. Few were paying any attention to him. He shrugged his shoulders, smiled, strummed the first chord of his chosen song opened his mouth and stopped every single person present in their tracks. A golden god, pure, humble and sexy as fuck held over three thousand tired people in the palm of his hand.

The first time ever I saw your face

I thought the sun rose in your eyes

Women fell in love with him, many felt a wetness between their legs as though his voice was stroking their most private place. Men either wished they were him or adjusted painful erections.

And the moon and the stars

Were the gifts you gave

To the dark, and endless sky

The song was longer than the rules permitted. No one cared. Ever emotional during auditions, Amanda Holden openly wept as the simple rawness of the singer and the words he sang broke her heart. Rob’s voice affected all who heard it. When the show aired  later in the year on national television, his performance was already a sensation. Over one hundred million people worldwide had watched, listened and wept, taking the beautiful golden angel to their hearts. Within a month, his recording of the song was on top of the charts in over fifty countries, selling ten million copies in the USA alone. Within a year his debut album had outsold all other releases that year. He was a star in the making.

The following year he undertook a world tour, breaking box office records where ever he performed, and everywhere he went, a big black dog was by his side. The world took Rob and Ozzie to their hearts and by the time he performed at Hyde Park that fateful summer night he was unquestionably the most famous man on the planet.

His meteoric rise to prominence had not gone unnoticed by the two figures who would come to play such important roles in his life and help to define who and more importantly what, he was.

The Murnchnik

Hiding from the world, the Murnchnik licked its wounds and nursed its hatred as it slowly recovered from its encounter with Michael on the night of the child’s birth. It had been supremely confident of success the night it went to collect the infant. It knew of the old magician now calling himself Malcolm, but was unconcerned. The pathetic old man was as a flea biting the hide of a tiger. The ancient mage’s powers were no match for its own. Rage coursed through it whenever it thought about that night. A rage that burned and destroyed everything it touched as it repaired its shattered ego and kindled new powers, new energies with which to attack those who sought to thwart it.

It took pleasure in obliterating any individual it found who had magical powers. As its power returned it sought out as many as it could, ripping their magic from them and adding it to his own even as he snuffed out their flame of life.  It would tolerate nothing that posed even the smallest threat to its ultimate goal – the destruction of mankind and all who helped and protected them. It would take procession of the Earth, then retake its place in the universe. Nothing was allowed to get in its way.

It had searched long and hard to find the second Guardian, the only being that it could be defeated by. No matter where it looked it had failed to find him, and then, one summer’s evening it heard a voice singing with a power that caused an alien emotion to rise in his throat - Fear. The sound pierced its carefully constructed defences. The earth shook with its anger, towns and cities were shaken, buildings destroyed, lives taken indiscriminately by its violent reaction. It had found its nemesis. It needed to act quickly, decisively. It would destroy the Guardian before he became so powerful that even its own malevolent evil, as mighty and world destroying as it was, was eclipsed by the golden goodness of its enemy.

But try as it might it could never get near to its target. Something, someone was protecting the boy from its fury. It was in no doubt as to who that someone was. The other Guardian. It decided to bide its time.

Almost twenty years since its defeat by Michael the Murnchnik had enough power and confidence in itself to re-enter the world of humans. He took time to choose the one he would consume and replace, settling on one of the richest, most economically powerful men on the planet.

Jonathan Harding was a recluse, spending all of his life hidden away in lofty penthouses and isolated pacific islands. Beaten and bullied by his overbearing father as a child, he had grown up with insecurities as large as some of the skyscrapers he owned. Relationships were hard for him to deal with, he found it easier and frankly more preferable to keep to himself. He had no friends and once his father died and he inherited his multi-billion dollar empire there were few left alive who even knew what he looked like. He was also gay, although due to all the baggage he carried with him, he was at thirty two years old a total virgin. The only sexual experience he had, had come from watching hard core gay movies on the internet. He was the perfect victim for the Murnchnik. The absorption of the shy billionaire by the evil creature was slow and eventually painful  - at least it was for Jonathan. The Murnchnik liked nothing better than inflicting pain on its victims and it had experienced the most delicious satisfaction with Jonathan Harding. It watched and waited for the perfect moment before wrapping its unseen tendrils around the man’s heart and soul. Taking control of the laptop on which  Jonathan always watched his porn, it slowly, over several months introduced him to movies containing extreme S&M. It started with the occasional scene where the man giving would cause slight pain to the receiver, when Jonathan was accepting of this behaviour it ramped up both the frequency and level of pain the subservient bottoms were forced to endure until the shy man was unable to achieve an orgasm unless witnessing extreme sexual torture.

The next stage had come when a mysterious package had been delivered to Jonathan’s New York penthouse. Parcels of any size and description were usually put through rigorous scrutiny by his security team before being passed to him. This particular box of goodies somehow evaded the usual checks and found its way onto the coffee table in the main lounge of the huge apartment.

Unable to stop himself, Jonathan had opened the box as soon as he found it. A gasp of shock and excitement escaped his shaking body. His fantasies were made reality as he reached in and took out item after item of bondage and self-flagellation equipment. Cock rings, ball stretchers, nipple clamps, dildos, vibrators, butt plugs. He almost passed out when he pulled the last package from the box, it held three items, an electronic anal stretcher, a massively bulbous anal plug he failed to get both his hands round, and a remote control latex fisting arm that pumped in and out of the receiving arse as slowly or violently as the user desired.

Within weeks he was spending most waking hours frantically fucking his arse with the arm, keeping his hole wide and ready by inserting the enormous anal plug. Towards his end, he was usually to be found on his back, legs in stirrups suspended from the ceiling, screaming like a cum slut whore as the latex fist made mush of his insides.

Erection was only possible when he used the tightest cockring to hold so much blood in his six inch tool that he could count the veins and feel the blood boiling along the pulsing shaft. He became addicted to using the thickest, heaviest ball stretcher he had been given to painfully pull his bruised and battered bollocks towards the floor as he walked naked from room to room.

His life became one of long, exquisite, self-inflicted torture. He began to hallucinate, allowing his darkest, most depraved fantasies to become real until one night, a dangerous thunderstorm riven with red lightning swirling round the city, he felt the touch of another on his over sensitised body. His sex befuddled brain vaguely registered the form standing between his legs as it removed the pumping fist from his gaping anus. He whimpered like a child when the head of a tortuously hot,  massively thick, ferociously insistent cock pushed into him. The monstrous penis stretched him beyond anything any sex toy could accomplish. Tears of joyous agony ran down his cheeks as a terrible, mind destroying, body splitting pain seared through him. An unhuman scream tore from his mouth as the last ejaculation of his pitiful life erupted from the bleeding ruin that was his penis. The last thing he felt as his life was torn from him was the flooding of his soul with the first and only fluid another being would pump into him as it reached its own earth shaking release.

The following morning, Jonathan Harding walked out of his self-imposed exile to assume personal control of the empire his father had always dreamed he would one day run. Within twelve months, Harding Inc was the biggest, most powerful organisation in the world with the Murnchnik, in the guise of Jonathan Harding standing proudly at its head.

Aaron

Michael and Lara named their first born son Aaron and lavished him with all the love they had. Until he was powerful enough to take care of himself the mighty Warlock and his Sorcerous wife spent twenty four hours a day protecting him from the evil they knew wanted to destroy him.

Twice in the young Guardian’s first eighteen years of life he had been aware of a smouldering presence watching his every move. The first time had been on his thirteenth birthday, a momentous day that saw Aaron acquire the first of his many powers. He found he could project his spirit into the atmosphere, allowing him to travel the Earth in the blink of an eye. From the edge of space he could look down and see the smallest greenfly sucking sap from a rose bush. The ocean’s depths held no secrets for his rapidly developing mind, no deep sea creatures escaped his all-seeing eyes. Joy and freedom filled his soul as he quickly learned how to control how high he flew and at what speed he travelled. He could traverse the globe in the blink of an eye or hover for hours over the same place. As he skated the stratosphere he sensed he was not alone. He sensed a power approaching him, a cold, angry power that looked like a mighty thunderstorm. It was a fearsome sight to behold as it raged and ravaged all it touched. Blinding bolts of fierce red lightning leaped from boiling cloud to boiling cloud. Fear touched him until the air around his floating spirit coalesced, forming an impenetrable bubble of energy. He felt his father beside him, his strong arms wrapping around him. The terrifying storm came closer and closer. His spirit could feel how calm and in control his father was, he would later ask ‘did I really hear you chuckle dad?’

The storm began to stretch out towards them, enveloping them in its menacing arms.

‘Watch and learn son.’ His father’s voice rang clear in his head. The bubble of energy surrounding him began to pulse, pure white bolts of power began to emanate from it, destroying every streak of red lightning they touched. The bubble grew larger with each pulse, the bolts of goodness obliterating the evil clouds. He heard an ear splitting scream of pain, fury and frustration just before, with a sky filling eruption of nightmare colours the storm disappeared to be replaced by clear blue skies the like of which he had not seen before.

His spirit was returned to his exhausted body by the tender ministrations of his mother who with time and patience told her son all she and his father knew of the Murnchnik, and that it was Aaron’s destiny, standing beside the partner he had yet to meet, to one day face the monster. For the next five years his parents did all they could to prepare him for the conflict to come instilling him with confidence in what and who he was.

He was educated at the best schools money could buy, always finishing at the  top of his class. From as early as he could remember he had known he was attracted to other boys, unable to prevent his penis showing how much whenever he was showering with his classmates. Even as a young teen his impressive length and girth was evident and by his eighteenth birthday his manhood stood at just under ten inches long and seven inches in circumference when erect. But for all his scoping out of other boys, and later young men, he was never tempted to approach any of them. He did find some of them stimulating and over the years he fantasised just like any red blooded teenager does as he learnt how to bring himself pleasure and release with his hands.

His parents threw a huge party to celebrate his eighteenth birthday and it was just as he cut into the impressive cake forming the centrepiece of the birthday buffet that The Murnchnik made his third attempt to take ownership of the young Guardian. A single bolt of fiery red shattered the ground in front of Aaron, missing him by less than six inches. Two guests were killed outright their bodies becoming charred black mummified versions of their former selves. Many other were injured, all suffering horrific burns. Aaron was untouched, physically. Mentally he was seething and launched a counter strike at his evil foe without thinking about what he was doing.

Standing in the roof top garden of the Harding tower in Hong Kong, The Murnchnik thought he had succeeded in at least damaging his young adversary. To anyone looking on, Jonathan Harding looked smug with a smile of satisfaction pulling at the corners of his thin white lips. He turned to go back indoors when the world around him erupted in noise, confusion and white fire. The sky itself attacked the now cowering figure, stripping away the shell he inhabited, revealing a roiling, scale covered monster fighting to protect itself from the onslaught being thrown at it. Monstrous growls and screams of hatred and anger filled the air for miles around. It was only Aaron’s youth and lack of controllable power that saved the Murnchkin that day. The sky’s attack on the unyielding monster began to falter allowing the screaming, reptile like form to push its own hideously malevolent magic back into the air. The two powers, white and red, collided. It was as though an atomic bomb had hit the city. Black fire blasted across the bay. The thunderous shock smashed millions of windows and brought down dozens of tower blocks. The city was devastated. Tens of thousands died that day. Aaron would never forgive himself for allowing his anger to surface, making him little better than the beast he had been born to destroy. It was a mistake he would never make again.

The day after his birthday Aaron finally met the old magician his parents had spoken of so often. He was laying on his bed watching the news coming from Hong Kong, listening to various experts and commentators trying to work out what had caused the catastrophic explosion when there was a flash of rainbow colours in the corner of the room. He blinked to clear his vision and found himself face to face with one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. At five feet six inches tall with a willowy, almost child-like appearance, the creature standing before him caused his breath to catch in his throat. Given the events of the previous day, he would have expected to be alarmed by the sudden appearance of a stranger in his room but all he felt was goodness, honesty and kindness emanating from the small but perfectly formed man-child. His parents had never hidden the existence of other magical folk from him, it’s just this was the first time he had actually seen one.

‘Hello.’ The small man’s voice rang clear and pure. ‘I’m Twix.’

‘Twix? I thought that was a chocolate bar?’

A look of irritation passed over the perfect face. ‘I was here a long time before someone stole my name and decided to put it on a bit of biscuit and caramel covered in chocolate.’ The sweet face puckered in frustration. ‘I hate that damn biscuit. Every time I meet someone new all they ever say is Aren’t you a chocolate biscuit?  I am sick to the back teeth of it.’

Aaron couldn’t help but quietly laugh at the small man’s mini tirade. ‘Okay, I understand. I’m sorry I said it. Alright?’ Twix took a deep breath and was immediately once again the pretty, smiling creature that had magically appeared in his room.

‘The Boss keeps telling me to be more assertive, and it worked. Yippee!’ He punched the air and danced a little jig.

‘The Boss?’ Aaron was intrigued, never for one moment thinking the excitable chap dancing round his room was any sort of threat.

‘Yes, the Boss.’ He stopped his dance. ‘You know, Malcolm?’ It was obvious from the expression on his face that Aaron had no idea who Twix was talking about. ‘Surely you’ve heard of Malcolm? He’s only the greatest magician in the world – ever. I mean, he’s a legend amongst the Faerie. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him.’

Faerie? That explains his outfit I suppose. Aaron took a minute to have a proper look at the figure now pacing up and down the room extolling his Master’s many accomplishments and skills. Looking more closely and actually paying attention to the ball of energy, he could see there was far more to him than short stature and a slim build.

Twix was dressed from top to toe in the brightest coloured clothes imaginable. His baseball cap, bearing the legend, ‘Pixie – Twixie’, was a shocking shade of pink with a dayglow green peak. His jacket contained more colours than Aaron could count and he was sure they changed depending on what background the Faerie was standing in front of. With trousers of red, blue, orange and purple and boots that shone silver one minute, gold the next, the only item of clothing he wore that looked ‘normal’ to Aaron’s eyes was the tight white Lycra t-shirt covering what looked like a strong, pretty well developed chest. The sprite’s face was captivating. His eyes were amber, his nose small and straight. Aaron saw that Twix’s cute little ears were slightly pointed – as he somehow expected of a mystical being, and his mouth, when still, was full and rosy red. Occasionally the tip of a pink tongue and the whitest of teeth were visible. Aaron felt a compulsion to kiss the sensuous Twix to find out if he tasted as good as he looked.

‘Are you listening to me?’ Twix’s sharp tone snapped Aaron from his reverie.

‘What? Er, yes.’ The look on the sprite’s face told him he wasn’t believed. ‘Well, no actually. I was just thinking I’d like to kiss you.’ The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about them and he immediately blushed a very bright red. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I …..’

Twix laughed, the delightful tinkling sound like music to the teenager’s ears. ‘Don’t worry. That’s quite natural. Human’s find us irresistible.’ A mischievous grin broke out on the adorable face making Aaron’s fight to control himself even harder. ‘Wait till you see me naked!’ Twix’s voice had become sultry and seductive. ‘I’m looking forward to that day.’

Aaron was left tongue tied and shocked. He knew he found other boys physically interesting, occasionally sexually stimulating but he hadn’t wanted to take things further with anyone before. He was embarrassed to feel his substantial tool thicken, pressing against the straining buttons of his flies. Twix’s eyes were trained directly on his uncomfortable bulge, his teeth taking his bottom lip between them as a goose bump inducing growl escaped his throat.

‘The rumours are true then. How big is it? Do you still have your foreskin? Do you produce a lot of juice when you shoot?’ He reached out with his hand, just as his fingers brushed against the coarse material of Aaron’s jeans a booming voice broke through the spell he had cast, stopping him in his tracks.

‘TWIX. ENOUGH. Bring him to me. NOW!’