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Alistair listened, and once again he took note of a special aura around Alexander, one that made you lower your guard and gives hope. His words held pauses and his face held silent reactions, showing Alistair that he truly thought before he spoke. When Alexander explained his situation, he felt slighly conflicted. It seemed the priest had to get over multiple hurdles just to sneak away. So why? Why do it for him? If Alexander came, he made it clear to him that it wasnt to test or change him but simply because he asked. The priest confessed that he desired to hear more about the world he saw. Alistair remained still. Being around this man...was causing him to feel and second guess...everything. [ “I must return, Time flied faster this time”] He had a half smile on his face as he walked passed him, the demon simply nodded, avoiding his gaze when he expressed his eagerness and hope to see him again. He wasnt use to someone placing hopes on him. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He watched as Alexander left before finally disappearing up the mountain, leaving him feeling a peg of loneliness. ( What the hell....am I doing...) He thought to himself before turning to leave. ___________________________________ Day 1 Alistair found himself waiting at the base of the mountain again. It hadnt even been 24 hours and he was felt a peg of excitement, hoping to see Alexander again. He was in his human form as a handful of humans made their way past him, heading up the mountain. Whenever boredom struck him, he contemplated pulling at bystanders strings only to remember the words Alexander fed him on hope and change. "Tsk.." He restained himself...and sat on a park bench...waiting...and waiting...and waiting...until night fall. ( I guess....he's busy...) __________________________________ Day 2 Alistair appeared much later in the day, since he had a job to complete the morning of. A simple matter of twisting the odds in his clients favor. However, for the first time in a very long time, it didn't make him happy. He was going to give Alexander a hypothetical question, hoping to gain some advice on weather or not he had done the right thing... ( wait...what...) Since when has he ever cared about doing the 'right thing' and since when has he ever desired advice before? Alistair groaned in irritation, running a hand through his hair as he found himself sitting at the bottom of the mountain once again...waiting for a handful of hours before finally calling it quits at midnight. As he headed back to his luxurious apartment it started to rain. He stared up at the sky wondering if Alexander liked the rain... _____________________________________ Day 3 Time ragged on rather painfully as Alistair found himself sitting on a park bench waiting again for hours. To his disappointment, Alexander didn't show up again. He sighed, watching the sunset to curve his growning irritation and disappointment. The feeling of waiting wasn't foreign to him, in fact it was oddly familiar...and yet...a part of him hated this feeling. Though he didn't know why. ( I shouldn't be here...what do I want from him anyway? He's not gonna fall for any of my tricks...) Was he looking for friendship? No, how absurd! Once the sun had disappeared, he left, walking back to his usual bar. Perhaps a drink would ease his thoughts. ________________________ Alistair Graves was not a demon prone to surprises. It came with the territory of seeing the world as it truly was: a dense, chaotic forest of shimmering, colored strings connecting every soul to each other. From his usual booth in the back of Axiom Lounge, he surveyed tonights clientele. Humans laughing and drinking, enjoying the night. A shimmering rainbow cord, thick as rope, connected a woman at the bar to a man who had just entered. He watched as the two greeted each other, looking so happy and full of life. A frayed, sour-green strand of envy linked two businessmen in a corner, as they got drunk and talked about scheming and tricking clients in order to grow their wealth. ( Another typical night.. ) This was his domain, where he belonged, not at the bottom of some mountain waiting for a priest to come and entertain him. He was a demon...a Karmic Weaver, his job was to provided a service, neat and transactional. No messy emotions, just profitable karma. ( I should forget him...) He took a sip of his 1978 Red wine, admiring the taste until a man entered the room, claiming his attention. He walked in and the forest of strings… parted for him. ( What the--) The stranger was dressed in a black suit that made Alistair’s own seem off-the-rack. With a perfect smile, and eyes a shade of burnt gold, they scanned the room before meeting his. This man was devilishly handsome. His hair a short jet black. The most disconcerting thing, however, was what Alistair couldn’t see. The man had no strings emanating from him. He was a void, similar to Alexander but...different, the threads of others bent and warped around him, as if repelled by a magnetic field. He wasn't human...and when there eyes met, he saw them glow. A demon...just like him. The stranger slid into the booth opposite to him without an invitation. “A tidy little operation you have here, Mr. Graves,” he said, his voice smooth. Alister couldnt decipher if this man was mocking him or complimenting him. “So… surgical. Like a gardener pruning bonsai trees. Absolutely charming~." Alistair’s own defenses snapped into place, a mask of cool indifference. “I don’t believe we have an appointment and I only discuss business with those who are… connected.” The stranger chuckled. “Oh, we’re connected. More than you know. You see the strings of others. I see all strings... " He raised a single brow, curious. "All strings?" "Even the dead, severed ones. The ghosts of attachments, the past.” His golden eyes gleamed, moving across Alistair's body, focusing on his chest, shoulders, and the space around his head. “Yours, for instance. A few pale, withered grey strands… the ghost of a mother’s love, severed by abandonment. A brittle, blackened thread… childhood friendship, snapped by betrayal. All clipped so neatly. You’ve been a careful weaver, for a human.” A cold trickle slid down Alistair’s spine. He knew.... and he could see, into his old life?! “My name is Cain,” he continued, leaning forward. “And I was born in the weave. A true Karmic Weaver. Not a human, but a demon of the tapestry. Its just me and my brother, and we occasionally pick up lost souls to do our bidding...." Alistair listened, a frown pulling on his lips. This demon...was the real deal...He needed to tread lightly. " So then...what have I done to earn such a pleasure. " "I’ve been watching you. You have talent, but you’re playing in the shallows. I can teach you to see the deeper currents, to weave not just luck and love, but death itself. I’m offering you a position, to become my underling.” The offer hung in the air. Alistair’s mind calculating, racing. The power was undeniable. The potential, infinite. But an underling? To be owned. The very idea was a violation of his core principle. He belonged to no one...having no strings ment true freedom. And true freedom was the reason he became a demon. “I work for myself,” Alistair said, his voice even, “I’m not interested in a partner, and certainly not a master. I suggest you find someone else." Cain’s smile didn’t falter; it simply cooled. “A transactional man. I admire that. So let’s consider this a transaction you’re refusing. There is a price for spurning a gift from someone like me, Alistair. Especially when I can see the pathetic, lonely little knot where your heart should be.” Cain raised his hand with the casual precision of a conductor, and suddenly Alistair felt a strange pressure in his chest, like a phantom was tugging at his heart. He froze...unable to move. “You believe everything is a transaction?” Cain murmured. “Let’s test that theory. A curse, for your refusal.... From this moment, you will still see the strings of others… but for you, they will be tangible.” Cain’s fingers made a subtle plucking motion in the air and a wave of sensation crashed over Alistair. The thick rainbow cord from the bar couple suddenly felt like a warm, sticky syrup against his psychic skin. The red thread of hatred was now a searing wire the burned his skin, The silver debt was a cold, heavy chain that sat upon his shoulders, and the thin slimy thread of greed, became nauseating. He gasped, his detachment shattering as the emotional weight of every connection in the room pressed in on him. "w-what the fuck--" He hissed. “And,” Cain continued, his voice now the only clear thing in the sensory storm, “you will be unable to manipulate any strings, unless it concerns you. No more anonymous meddling for profit. Your power is now tied to your own karma, your own attachments. To weave, you must feel. And you, Alistair Graves, feel nothing....until today.” Alistair was at a loss for words. He eyes wide as he slouched forward in his seat, his head on the table and hands over his head as he trembled in fear. No...these feelings! It was all too much to bear! Cain stood, straightening his cufflinks. “You’ll come to me. When the loneliness of being surrounded by connections you can never truly touch or have becomes too much. When you crave the silence I can provide. You’ll seek me out, ready to be my underling, just for a moment’s peace.” He looked down at Alistair, who was visibly shaking, trying to block out the tactile assault of a hundred invisible ties. “The price of your next transaction, Alistair, will be your freedom. I’ll be waiting.” Cain turned and walked out, the strings of the world parting for him once more, leaving Alistair utterly alone in the crowded lounge—drowning in the unbearable, tangible texture of a love that was not his, a hatred he did not possess but felt, and the terrifying, hollow silence of his own stringless, cursed core. ____________________________________ [ One month later ] Alistair's had locked himself in his luxurious apartment complex, his office, closed for weeks now. The heavy curtains were drawn tight and a single, lamp casts a sickly yellow glow over his bedroom which was littered with empty glasses and paperwork. He is curled up in his bed, hiding underneath his sheets. His mind reeling and aching. He is a ghost of the man he was a month ago. His tailored shirts all wrinkled, apartment wreked, with dark circles under his wide, bloodshot eyes. His hands, once steady for the delicate work of weaving, now tremble almost constantly. He stares up at the ceiling, a voice in his head. ( Stop it… just… stop.) He felt like he was going insane. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palm. ( It’s not mine. It’s not....... mine.) This emotions were not his! He was starting to remember what it was like to be human, and he hated it. He fucking hated it! Cain’s curse holds: He cannot manipulate any string that does not, on some level, concern him. He is powerless. Powerless...and desperate. A pulls his knees to his chest, unable to be surrounded by a forest of feelings, bombarded with every connection the moment he steps outside, the street, the city. Love, hate, fear, greed, hatrd, loneliness, debt, longing—all of it pressing in, touching him, and he can do nothing. He cannot broker it. He cannot snip it. He can only endure it. In the chaos of sensation, he is the only numb thing, and even the numbness is agony. ________________________________ Alistair is panting loudly, struggling to catch his breath as he makes his way up the sacred mountain, towards Sato Temple. Deep down he knew he'd never reach the temple, in all honesty that wasn't even the goal. Death was.... The air was too dense and the spiritual pressure was already crushing him, yet dispite that had managed to make it half way up the path. Unable to keep going, he felt his legs suddenly give out on him. He laid there on the ground with this lungs on fire. His vision blurring and his mind struggling to stay conscience. Suffocating wasnt a pleasant death...but...it ment freedom...and....if there was even the slightest chance that he'd get to see Alexander again one last time... In order to draw attention...Alister and ripped off 2 talismans from trees on his way up the mountain. If he didnt suffocate first then surely they'd send someone to finish him off. @mik3la

i actually don't even mind when there are drawing flaws in a cover as long as it's drawn by a human too, the sad part is that independent circles don't have that much budget to spend so they would go for the easiest or cheapest option

Fangs mind felt heavy and so did his eyes. He rubbed them, feeling tired until he saw Sora peering down at him from the couch. ["Did you even sleep a wink at all?” ] He blinked a few times, as if trying to register what he said. He sighed, shaking his head. His body immediately responding to Sora as he reached out to and touched him. A wave of comfort washing over him. "A little.." He muttered, but his eyes were soft, as if he was gazing at something beautiful. [ “I don’t think you did.”] " Are you worried about little old me?" He teased, rolling his eyes. A smile peeking through for a brief moment. He closed his eyes. [ “You should take it easy today. Give your body some much-needed rest. I won’t leave the apartment, if that helps you relax.”] Fang was listening but he wasn't looking at Sora. The way Sora's finger moved up and down his face, was soothing. It was as if Sora was casting a spell or trying to put him under a trace. It was hard to resist. Fang was just about to fall for it, until a loud crash jerked him awake. Sora's new pet had gotten into the bathroom, climbing on the sink and knocking down whatever it could. A low growl came from his throat as he reluctantly sat up. Vanitas forgot to mention how mischievous yoki foxes are. Of course Sora was already pulling away to go investigate, but Fang grabbed his hand, stopping him. His lover looked back at him with confusion, but even he didn't really understand why he had grabbed him so suddenly. It was sort of a natural reaction. A impulse. Perhaps...he really did have a problem. He immediately let Sora go, feeling silly for stopping him in the first place. In his mind he had heard the crash. Which ment danger...and Sora was rushing towards it. He felt anxious. Of course rationality quickly caught up to him and he realized there was no immediate danger. Just him overreacting. "My bad..." he muttered. He slowly stood, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he walked passed Sora he took a moment to stop in front of him and ruffle up his hair, a tender moment and touch before his hand moved, cupping his cheek. He sighed before leaning forward, placing his forehead on Soras. " Stay the night...I sleep better when your with me...." He whispered. " I'll go to bed now...all I ask is that you let me hold you, until I fall asleep...I wanna see what the yoki is capable of before I let you out of my sight.......just....let me be your overprotective, asshole boyfriend...for one more night...deal?" He leaned in closer, his lips just millimeters away from Sora's...hoping the human wouldn't push him away, testing to see if he'd close the distance. Things were going to change...they had too...and Fang knew he had a problem...he was willing to learn and adapt. If that's what it ment to be with Sora and make him happy again.... he chnage and work on his issues. Because thats what you do...when you love someone. @M-jow

Thank you so much for your kind sharing

Many thanks for the volume 7!

Thank you so much I'll have a happy time 🧡🧡

Thank you so much. I'll have a happy time💜

Thank you so much. I'll have a happy time💛

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