Prologue: The Treaty of TowersA Chapter by Tsukin Archangel A look into Marc's past and the agreement that led to the Treaty of Towers. Warnings: Language and mild sexual content Prologue: The Treaty of Towers The
room was dark except for the faint glow of embers in the fireplace. Winnely sat
up in the bed and bit her lip, her ginger hair hanging over her freckled face
like a shroud. A cold breeze lightly caressed her exposed shoulder and she
looked up momentarily to see that a window had been left open over night. She
shivered. The white sheets bunched around her closed fists and to any onlooker
it would be obvious that she felt guilty about something. Last night… she thought, did
I … ? Phantom
touches and gentle kisses plagued her mind. Memories of the night before. A
dazzling smile. Stomach knotting pleasure. A sensation born from within her
body that she’d craved like a drug. That she still craved. Her ultimate regret. Marc. It all came back to her and she chanced a glance to her
right. Marc. It was true then, the
warmth she’d felt beside her wasn’t a dream. It hadn’t vanished with the start
of the new day. Oh my -- I can’t -- forgive
me -- Marc. She choked back a sob, a traitorous tear trailing down her
cheek. Oh god. It meant nothing. She
meant nothing to him. It
never did with him. Winnely took a shaky
breath and wiped her eyes. It was done. In a moment of weakness she had
succumbed to her darkest desires, breaking the promise with herself that she’d
made all those years ago the moment she first started growing close to Marc. That she wouldn’t love. She glanced at
the clock that lay on the nightstand and pulled a shirt over her head. I
won’t fall for his tricks. “Marc?” she asked softly, afraid the moment
might break her. His
games. “Hmmm?”
came the sleepy reply. His
seduction. “Shouldn’t
we be leaving? We’re going to be late as it is.” Her voice was steadier now.
The mask was set. She could do this. His
charm. The
blonde groaned and rolled onto his side exposing his toned and bronzed upper
back, his usually impeccable hair a tousled mess. She inhaled sharply and her
grip tightened to the point of whiteness on the corner of the sheet she had.
She couldn’t do this. His
beauty. Marc grunted and pulled
the covers up against himself. He burrowed deeper into their depths and turned
his face gracelessly away from the glow of sunlight that had begun to filter in
through the open window. His
charisma. He squinted open an
eye. Honey-gold met emerald green. “Who left the window open, huh?” He asked.
His voice was muffled against the side of the pillow. Slightly slurred with
sleep. His
mystery. “Marc,” Winnely sighed
and pulled at the sheets. He grinned lazily at her. She felt her mouth go dry.
Even just waking he was truly beautiful. Otherworldly. He really was on a
completely different plane of existence than her. Marc pulled the sheets back. He was a tall man and now he was hogging all
the warmth. Her feet were getting cold. “Marc.”
She tried for forceful. No good. His
allure. “Fine.” She stood up
and pulled on the pair of undergarments she’d worn the night before. “I’m going
to get ready,” She found her short battle skirt and pulled that on as well. “I
expect you to be ready as well when I get back.” Winnely pulled on her boots
with a grunt as she forced her foot into that narrow gap fit for an ankle. The
leather stretched slightly to accommodate the sudden intrusion and its tongue
lolled forward slightly like a dog. “It’s a very important meeting.” She walked
over to his vanity. No doubt it was there for all of the other guests he… entertained. I
won’t fall for his seduction. Marc sighed. “I know, I
know, just… give me a minute.” He waved a hand through the air lamely. “I’ll be back in twenty.” The blonde looked up.
“You’re leaving?” Winnely turned around,
taking a bobby-pin out of her mouth and tying her hair up into a somewhat
presentable bun. “Yes, to my own room.”
She glanced in the mirror and moved a few strands into place. “I have a shower in
here you know.” Marc pointed out, eyes shifting away slightly before turning
back to her. You don’t have to go. Is
what they said. Well
you haven’t asked me to stay either, she thought. Was it just her or did
he seem just a little desperate? Winnely shrugged and
made her way over to the door. “None of my clothes though.” Marc smirked. “You
forget I’m the Warden. If I wanted to I could make this your room. It would be easy,
a parlor trick.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his eyes shined with
something -- Hurt? Fear? Anxiety? Impossible. Marc didn’t love. He
only used and manipulated. He was the paragon of dignity and regality in the
public eye, but he felt no love. He was incapable of that. She knew that. She’d
known it from the moment she’d first started observing him when she’d joined the
military at the start of the War of
Towers. It was all just a game to him, a petty pathetic game that led to
countless woman’s hearts broken. I
will not be a victim. “Well don’t,” she said
firmly before walking out the door. Marc’s expression darkened, but the look
vanished as quickly as it came. His mask was in place. “Then go, I’ll be ready
in fifteen minutes.” Winnely nodded curtly
and saluted, closing the door behind her. She wouldn’t love him. I
will not love him. I
can’t. -Tower of God- Marc watched her go
with a sigh. His mouth thinned to an agitated line. She’s
a right little b***h ain’t she boss? A male voice called from
his vantage point by the open window. Marc turned in surprise, he’d never seen
this man before. Never heard that voice or seen a man with eyes red like hot
coals and blood. Where’d he even come from? Marc narrowed his eyes. “Who are
you?” Your
biggest confident Marky. I’m hurt you don’t recognize me. “Shut up. I don’t know
you.” Well
whatever. The man shrugged. Anyway, she totally turned you down ya’ know. Stomped on your little
heart, saw that right? He posed by the desk, jutting his hip out and
tapping his chin in mock contemplation. “You don’t know that.” Gonna’
make ya’ cry! Gonna’ make you weep! Marky-Marc’s in for a treat!
He sing-songed hopping from foot to foot. “I swear if you don’t
stop I’ll -- ” Marc began. The red-eyed man
stopped. You’ll what? Sic lil’ Winnie on
me? He trembled then guffawed hysterically. Oooo, I’m so scared. He paused and Marc
glared. It’s
really sad you know. Pathetic even. “Quiet.” She’ll
never love you. “Shut up.” Never
ever want to be with you again. “I said shut up.” Marc
covered his ears but the red-eyed man’s voice still carried. She’ll
just distance herself and you’ll be all alone with the lil’ demons in your ugly
little head. The red-eyed man’s voice turned
sadistic. “I SAID! SHUT! UP!”
Marc roared, voice cracking at the end as the veins in his neck grew prominent
against his skin. The room shook. His
hair flew around wildly in his face and pulse went through the room like an
invisible wave had crashed through it. The ground cracked. Windows burst.
Paintings vanished into nothing, chairs were flung against the wall. The very
fabric of reality seemed to be waning. The space seeming to breath, lurching in
and out, cobbled stones lifting and depressing back and forth. “Get
out,” Marc said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Or I will make you leave.” The
red-eyed man grinned. And laughed. Enough
with the theatrics Marky. He snapped his fingers and the
room instantly returned to the way it was before. I’m as much of a Warden here as you are. Marc blinked in surprise,
his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The red-eyed man walked
languidly over to him and pushed a mirror into Marc’s face. See,
the red-eyed man cooed in his ear. Look.
Marc shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see. A strange sense of dread had begun
to curl itself in his belly. He felt the red-eyed man’s fingers against his
jaw. They were deathly cold. Open your
eyes. Marc resisted. Open them.
The red-eyed man grabbed his neck, cutting off his air. Open them or I’ll make you open them. He mocked through a
deranged chuckle. Marc clawed at the hand and his eyes flew open with a gasp as
air flooded his lungs. The red eyed man grinned. One and the same. He whispered. Marc’s eyes widened. No… He screamed. His eyes were red. -Tower of God- Winnely glanced up at
Marc, she wanted to ask but she couldn’t. Something had changed in the time she
had been gone, but she didn’t know what. She wet her lips with her tongue and
looked down at where Marc’s hand wrapped around her waist. She sighed. Any
other day she would’ve been thrilled by the touch but now… She looked up again and
shivered. There was a darkness in Marc’s eyes, a look she hadn’t seen before
and she wasn’t sure that bode well for the treaty agreements they had planned
to make with the other four Wards. The grip on her waist felt possessive. Tight
and owning. Like she was property not a person. She didn’t enjoy that feeling. The ground whizzed past
their feet… or maybe it would be more accurate to say their feet whizzed past
the ground, she couldn’t tell anymore; it all felt like floating on air, like
she wasn’t really there. Or anywhere really. It was a strange sensation but she
didn’t bother to complain. This was Marc’s preferred method of travel and
besides she had to admit it was a lot less cumbersome than driving a car or the
myriad of other things one could think of. She remembered the first time she’d
seen Ward 5’s black dragon they so prided themselves on maintaining. She’d reeled
in shock as a beast born from the very depths of the children stories she’d
read as a child came to life in front of her. It was
pretty impressive she had to admit. It was the closest thing to a living thing
to be created using the power of a Tower, but she knew it wasn’t real. Not
really. A flick of her wrist and it would all come tumbling down. If it were
truly alive she wouldn’t be able to hurt a scale on its head. They began to slow and
with that she turned her attention back to her immediate surroundings, the
grassy plains of the neutral zone coming into focus. This was the place the
five Wards had decided they would congregate. A space that none of them
occupied and no one would have a distinct advantage of. She looked again at
Marc, his expression still cold and dark.
It was a lie she knew. A false reassurance that they’d be any safer from
Marc’s influence here than anywhere else. She looked around the
field. It was strange to be somewhere where the power of the Tower didn’t
touch. So… this is what Earth truly looks like? Alive and green? They lurched to a stop
and Winnely stumbled out of Marc’s grip, only saved for falling by his quick
reflexes. She brushed her bangs
out of her face. “Thank you.” Marc glanced at her for
a moment and nodded. “Come on.” The two walked up the
ridge in silence, an almost physical gap separating the two of them on a level
not seen before. Voices carried over from the top and Marc’s expression only
grew more agitated. “Where’s the little
punk huh? He doesn’t have the right to be late just cause he thinks he’s stronger
than all of us!” Marc cleared his
throat. “I am stronger. Jaron,” He glanced icily at the current Ward 3 leader
and began to walk forward, his Tower manifesting itself in his wake. With each step he took
the world around them died, grass folding over to reveal cold black stone, the
sky turning dark and stormy, clouds like tar swirling in into existence. Marc’s
Tower rose behind him large and onyx, stone, and foreboding. Spires jutting
from it sides, gothic buttresses and stained glass windows spiraling up its
surface. Marc went to sit down
at the round table where the rest of the Ward’s representatives sat looking
shocked and edgy as if at any moment he may snap. Which he very well might. He
really wasn’t in a good mood. Winnely looked up at
the Tower in surprise. It hadn’t looked like that this morning. It hadn’t
looked like that the night before. She looked over at Marc and gulped. What had
happened to have shaken him so much that his very Tower changed in appearance. He’s
like a shadow king, she thought to herself. Marc propped his legs
up on the table, and a cloth billowed out from where his shoes touched its
surface, a crimson thing trimmed with black curtaining over its sides. “Well let’s make this
simple hmm?” He said darkly. “You want me to leave your Wards alone. I want you
to leave my Ward alone.” Marc looked up and the people around the table nodded
in agreement, looking flustered. “Good. Well then. Here are my terms,” he
paused. “You will send each of your firstborns to be fostered under my care
when they reach the age of eighteen.” “Proposterious!” “Why would we agree to
that?!” “Let me wring his
pretty blonde neck!” “SILENCE!” Marc’s voice
boomed across the table and despite everything, they instantly fell quiet. “Those
are my terms. Take it or leave it. Doing this insures I won’t attack you and
having your children insures you won’t attack me. Peace. Done and done. See?” “What if we refuse?”
Marc turned at the sound of the unified voice of Ward 4’s Collective. The only
Ward that had proved to be any challenge during the war. “Simple. I’ll make my
reality everyone’s reality,” he
glanced around him, “and I doubt you all want that.” Silence. Then. “Ward
4 has made a decision. We shall comply. The Collective agrees to your terms.
They are reasonable and currently the most effective option available to us for
peace.” Marc
smiled. “Good.” He looked at the rest of the group and raised an eyebrow. “Ward
5 shall comply.” “Ward
2 agrees.” “Jaron?”
Marc asked, “You’re the last one.” Jaron
spit on the ground. “That’s what I think of you and your god damned terms,” he
growled, “but Ward 3’ll comply.” “Then
it’s settled. The Treaty of Towers is set.” © 2014 Tsukin ArchangelAuthor's Note
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Tsukin ArchangelPalmdale, CAAboutHmm let's see~ I'm 20 (wow I've had this account for a long time) I'm a poet I'm a story writer A singer An amateur Voice actor An anime enthusiast An avid gamer 100% Unadulterrated Me! I wri.. more..Writing
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