This is a fanfiction about Gilles de Rais (Saber and Caster) from the Fate series. It is not necessarily pleasant, I write what I want.
Adult Warning: Explicit, includes non-con and violence
He was stuck in a distant memory of a fresh spring day. It was a time in his early childhood, he had wandered out onto the garden of his family's estate. His family had brought rabbits on a whim. The small bundles of fluff were nibbling calmly on the grass. On his small unsteady legs he leaped over and tried to grab one. Once he had one, he squeezed tightly as the animal squirmed relentlessly beneath his fingers.
‘Don’t do that!’, the maid reprimanded him.
Young Gilles looked back at her in confusion. His cherubic face radiated such innocence, nobody could have predicted what would befall him as an adult. What was he doing wrong?
‘You’re being too rough with it, that's cruel’
He looked back at the fluffy mass in his hands, it's blood red eyes beaming back at him. This is a thing like him, really?
It can feel what I feel?
As this time in his life Gilles hadn't learnt much about pain. Gilles asked himself...
What does ‘cruel’ mean?
As he stared at the twitching animal, the pleasant spring day grew hotter and hotter. The air warped with heat and scorching ashes began to swell in and bite at his skin. The next moment he was transported back to the base of the pyre where Jeanne was burnt alive. The bonfire roared with a life of its own. Like imps the fire danced along her skin, crawling its way from her dress to devour her flesh. Then she screamed. He was crippled with fear and unable to look up. A hand from behind him yanked his head up to see...
Gilles woke up with a jolt. He would dream every day of her death. It was night-time and he was out in the garden. It wasn't really what anyone could call a garden, he hadn't anyone take care of it even in his better years. Vines were eating up the old walls and the entire place was overtaken with aggressive weeds. He looked up at the moon. It was a refreshing break from the dim candles that strained his eyes.
A few weeks had passed since Jeanne died. He had rioted and screamed until he had no more breath in him and his voice was raw. With every day he grew thinner as he ate nothing and slept only out of complete exhaustion. Night and day blurred together into a sluggish concoction of listlessness. Within the thick stone walls of his estate, Gilles hardly knew the passing of days.
He had broke things in his grief, throwing chairs at the walls in the dining room in childish tantrums. Valuable paintings fell victim to his outrage. His servants had left him, due to him screaming at them to leave him alone in his sorrow. What use was all this money now. It meant nothing. His face crunched up bitterly reflecting on it all.
After waking up from that reverie he wandered back into the darkness of his castle. His remaining family had cut off ties with him long ago, but he had a significant fortune from war exploits and this castle for himself. Like the intestines of a living thing, this castle wound deeper and deeper. It was a place that must have once been full of life before him, with elegant lords and ladies. It was wasted on him, a single man with no heirs but a useless mass of riches.
Since he was nocturnal by now, he didn't want to go back to sleep. He especially despised his large decadent bedroom. It had a large bed carved out of mahogany and a thick maroon canopy hung over it. It stifled him with a stale smell of dust and decay. He instead chose to wander the long hallways, the castle walls became more unrefined and the old stone masonry revealed itself. He touched the moist stone and appreciated that it couldn’t judge him.
He entered an area which was like a personal chapel. There was a small window at the end of it. In daytime it dispersed a beam of sunlight softly in the dusty air. The light was a reminder that the days kept passing by. He hated the daytime, it mocked him.
He used to sit there and flagellate himself and pray. What use was that now? God had taken Jeanne away from him. Something was simmering in him and he didn’t know what.
The altar room in the moonlight however had a completely different allure. The chamber was dressed in purplish hues. This was the most beautiful sight in his estate he felt. Without the hideous reminder of daylight, the cool moonlight refreshed him. Gilles lit a few candles and approached the small cross above an altar, he stopped and reminisced.
God was his reason for living and his duty in life for so long.
A rage inflamed him. He hadn’t slept or eaten in days. His body and mind were at their limit and a violent irritation was rising. He had tried to swallow down blasphemous thoughts but they regurgitated up. This bitter taste in his mouth was one of pure loathing.
Then why God, why did you let her die?
His breathing escalated. Almost like a wild animal in it’s irregular wheezing. His usually kind brow now furrowed in rage. Finally he asked the questions he could never ask his whole life.
God can you even hear me?
He hadn’t ever touched Jeanne. Had he even wanted to.
Suddenly a black lust inflamed him from down below. He stood petrified in the night air for a moment, reluctant to admit what the sensation was.
With a trembling hand he slowly reached under his pitch black frock. He twitched a bit and exhaled sharply. In this rank stone chamber lit only by small crimson candles, the shadows flickered and responded with silence.
What was he doing? How long had it been since he’d satisfied himself. He had been almost impotent for such a long time.
He pressed his stomach up to the wall close to the cross. His nails scraped against it's rough texture. His hands had prominent veins that throbbed as he clenched them. The pale light illuminated this pose like a classical statue.
Why did it decide to happen so suddenly now? In this place.
With only a slight touch his cock jolted up urgently. He pressed his agonised face against the wall and stifled any sound. The agony came from how hard it was throbbing, it was painfully erect. He was almost afraid to touch it. He pressed his body up against the damp walls and grunted.
Gilles almost started to cry. Here of all places, why.
He lightly wrapped his fingers around it again and throes of pleasure flooded through him. He emitted a pitiful cry as it almost crippled him. It was so right in this consecrated place. He carried so much frustration towards the world, and as he touched himself the fury slipped away into a soft daydream.
What must it have been like to touch Jeanne.
He stroked himself while pressed up against the wall. Imagining her blushing skin and golden hair. That smile that could make clouds go away. He cringed into himself in mental pain yet physical pleasure.
These images infiltrated his mind as he played with himself. He cringed at his vulgarity but despite how shameful, he could not cease. It felt far too good. Shuddering in pleasure, these memories of her would not stop plaguing his mind.
This must be the devil. His black hair began to spill out from its neat little bow. The cute little ribbon that seemed to restrain him for all this time. Everything about his past was suffocating; the heavy armour, his quest to serve under other people his entire life and above all, his devotion to god.
Gilles hadn’t touched himself much. He was almost asexual in his past and couldn’t remember the last time he even fondled himself.
Please Jeanne, you were so cute, I don’t mean it like this.
Had he intentionally chose this room to get himself off in. Nobody could hear his moans here except maybe God himself. Could Jeanne hear him from heaven? Nobody was miles around.
Another image intruded into his mind, the image of Jeanne's pain as she burnt at the cross.
Her piousness, her stoicism. Enduring that agony up till the very end it was, it was…
He swallowed down this memory, it burnt in his throat and he felt tears trying to form, but thrust his body closer to those mossy, cool stone walls.
Her ashen face, half burnt to charcoal and enduring unbearable agony. He exhaled loudly and seized up. The devil was making him do this. This isn’t me. He could not stop. That image of the corpse with its skin peeling away under the flames, it must have been so painful, so excruciating…
His cock was so very hard, precum bubbled at the tip and every part of his entire body screamed desperately for a release. A release from all this grief and these cruel visions in his head. He was afraid he wouldn't even be able to cum, which was a torturous thing that happened to him often. He made sweet whimpering noises and his long hair shrouded him in his distress.
Please just let me...for once.
Jeanne's punishment was so unspeakable. There was no way God could do that to her.
Jeannes' image vanished from his mind. A sacrilegious rage flooded over him. From here on out he was vigorously masturbating to his hatred of God.
With the devil's possession a glee took over his mind. He faced the cross on the altar with a grin. Purposefully aiming at it, he masturbated delightfully. Tossing his head back in delirium as his face melted. He suddenly turned into a creature that nobody would ever recognise. His eyes gleamed and his tongue poked out sanctimoniously.
These wild expressions he had not shown to any living human, he hadn't even consciously accepted this part of himself. It just happened now. His mind was so soft, soft, soft, soft and empty. He wanted this place to be completely deconsecrated. Violated.
If you're real then answer me.
If you're real then punish me.
His nails cut into his soft dick a bit, as a choked cry slipped out.
‘Do you hear me god, do you….'
He let out a sharp cry and arched his pretty back as he shot cum. His black hair, having fallen out of its ribbon, streamed across his face.
He spasmed effeminately and doubled in on himself. The softness in his head began to dissipate. Shivering for a moment, he tried to compose himself. After his orgasm, he expected a usual wave of self loathing to wash over him and yet, it did not arrive. His shot hit close enough to the desired target. He admired the abundant sticky stream plastered at the base of the cross, and laughter took over his body. His cock throbbed tenderly and his legs ached.
The orgasm was phenomenal.
He hadn’t felt such an intense release in so long. Perhaps even never.
How long had it been since he came. So long. He was reluctant to admit he had never felt sexually satisfied in all his 30-something years of life. Usually anytime he indulged in it, it brought with it an unshakable guilt for days. He was getting older and yet only now, he pulled up his frock further and traced his elegant hands around his stomach. His heavy breath made clouds in the icy air.
Almost as if cherishing his body for the first time in his life, he simply touched himself. He wondered why he didn't take pride in how he looked and felt before. His pale body was encased in moonlight, and was lithe and remarkable. Even though he had lost a lot of muscle tone these last few months, it gave him a slenderness that wasn't unbecoming. For his manhood, it appeared decent enough.
Overall he exuded elegance even in the pit of despair. It came to his mind that women seemed to like him in the past, but he was so single-minded he never understood their advances. They must have liked him as a knight, nothing more.
None of them would want to see him now.
Just here as he stood naked. Without honour. Without pride. Without any armour whatsoever.
Would any of them even like him now? He tenderly stroked the dark bush of his pubic area. For this person he really was.
Now he appreciated his vessel. He felt so grateful to not be weighed down by that heavy armour anymore. It was plain and simple, carnal desire was kicking in. That’s when he felt a beautiful pleasure surge through his entire body. Self-confidence unknowingly began to flow into him from an unknown source. He pulled his heavy black frock back on, it concealed his white flesh and blended him into the midnight darkness. A smile crossed his face. He had now unsanctified this entire room. It wouldn't mock him anymore. He finally accepted it.
The only way he could get off is by defiling holy things.
A primal feeling surged up in him without a name. It struck him as similar to that memory from his childhood, the thrill of clutching the soft body of that rabbit.
The next morning he pulled water from a well and carried it into the washroom. He poured buckets of the frigid water into a basin and undressed. Lathering lard soap with the cool water, he cleaned himself with more attention than before.
He wasn't cleaning himself out of obligation to society anymore. He smiled a bit. It was simply because he enjoyed his body for once. No, nobody had even seen his naked body, he felt delight for discovering this part of himself. With his long hair plastered to his face, he got out and dried himself off.
He wore his dark hair without a ribbon now and enjoyed the feeling of it softy stroking his bare shoulders. He finally went into his bedroom where he had one mirror, but after all these weeks wailing in grief, he was fearful of looking into it. When he finally did he was surprised. His long hair framed his elegant face and grazed his semi-bare shoulders. A dark long sleeved frock reached the floor and silhouetted his toned physique. Above all, a smile was on his face for once. He realised he didn't do that much. It altered his demeanour completely, far from a humble and mousy past self. This was not the smile of someone who was god fearing.
His large black eyes however, gradually took on an unusual characteristic. They were slightly vacant and bestial, as if wandering away from each other. Maybe they had always been a bit like this, as if in a confused daydream. He didn't really think much about this. He also couldn't notice the erogenous scent that clung to his flesh.
There was a small storage room close to the cellar. When he pushed open the thick oak door a musty smell reeked out of the room. It hadn’t been aired out in how long. Some casks of god-knows-what were pushed off into the corner.
With that same perverse excitement he had felt masturbating in the chapel, he became extremely excited in this room. What use this room could have he didn't know quite what. In this chamber his body was ridiculously aroused. The stifling oak and alcohol smell in this room made his body flush over with lust. It was overwhelming, but he ignored it for now.
He picked up some wine, flour and other long lasting preserved food from this room and took it back upstairs. He was able to survive with the provisions he had here for maybe a few months. Even with his minimal eating habits however, it would eventually be used up. He avoided thinking about that situation as much as possible.
More weeks rolled by in this sort of loneliness. They blended into months and gradually he was changing in a few ways. He barely kept himself alive with nourishment and started to amuse himself with reading books. Something he never wasted much time on before. He would read old manuscripts and laugh to himself at how stupid the Christian texts were. He was struck by an image of the gates of hell in one of the books. It was a sharp toothed reptilian creature with a horrifically wide mouth. All the sinners had to be eaten up before even entering hell. They were locked into this mouth by an archangel with a large key. In his self-deprived mania with his tired eyes barely lifted, he thought the image was stunning.
He wanted to see this demon in the real world.
He stared at these illustrations a long time, and sporadically giggled. He poured another glass of wine and downed it, descending further into a mindless stupor. Most of his time was spent like this, he became scarily vacant staring at these images and entered a fantasy at the back of his mind. Not that anyone was around to notice it, but his eyes specifically wandered when he entered these spells. These moments were only broken by sudden tremors. All at once, he realised he was spending days in these trances and grew afraid for his sanity.
What use is sanity, a voice within him beckoned. Lets have fun.
He was frightened by this voice that kept whispering from within him, but finally concluded that he was just seriously bored. He needed to get out. At all costs.
He decided to go out for the first time in almost a month. He wore his plain garb without any of the heavy weight of added pieces. His pride as a nobleman was in the process of being ground up into the dirt, the extra layers were just emotional baggage. As he walked he wondered how long he would have to be a hermit before the townspeople exiled him as a sorcerer.
He was aware there were some homes of peasant folks somewhere around here. He went through a thicket, and looked up at the black gnarled branches before finally reaching an empty field. Tiny cottages were lined up alongside a creek. It was a pleasant sight and reassured his tired heart that the world outside still existed. Out in the middle of the field a few children we're playing. When he spotted them, his eyes crinkled up in delight. Like a large crow he silently descended close to them with only a faint fluttering sound.
'Who's winning?' he said to one of them, as they were in the middle of tossing a ball.
The children suddenly noticed him and rightfully paused in shock.
Gilles loomed above them, his hair flowed over and obscured his face. He beamed in his typical wide smile with narrowed eyes. He towered over them in his black garb.
There were three children. Two were very young, a boy and a girl, but the third girl appeared teenage. All of them had mousy blonde hair and healthy pink complexions from being out in the fields all day. All siblings? Gilles sized them all up in an instant. The younger ones clutched the ball and took a step back, expecting the older sibling to say something.
'Nobody is really winning, we were just playing catch.'
'Ah, It was a long time ago when I was young so I forget'
He knelt down in the field which brought him down to their level. He continued to pry them about where their parents are, what their favourite things were and such. He listened eagerly as the young ones babbled about food and stuffed toys. From a distance the scene must have appeared straight out of a fable. With this dark figure crouched close to innocent babes, it was a spitting image of a wolf next to little lambs.
The oldest girl appeared on edge, but gradually accepted the situation. The man appeared to be rich, his clothes were made out of a luxurious thick fabric she had never seen up close. His hands decorated with golden rings. His hair was silky and his skin an almost radiant ivory. She even felt insecure, looking dolefully down at her freckled arms and dirty hands. Above all she was jealous because he didn't have the same scent on him that they did, one that reeked of barn animals. Out of extreme boredom Gilles finally dropped a question.
'If any of you are hungry, I have plenty of food back at my home' Gilles mentioned. Almost as if on perfect cue as the girl tried to hide her stomach growls. She stared back with distrust, but at the same time, the promise of a full stomach overwhelmed her common sense.
Their bright eyes sparkled a moment. This appeared enticing to the children, who tugged at the older girl. They consulted each other with their backs to him for a moment. It was a question of trust, but the oldest girl had come to the conclusion that at least she could handle it. They turned back to him.
'I'll go alone this time, if that's ok', the oldest girl said.
Brave girl. Gilles deliciously thought to himself.
'That's fine, You can take food back'
The young children hopped eagerly.
He lifted himself up and began to walk back with the girl in tow. As they walked he eyed up the teen more. She appeared around fifteen. Her light brown hair was worn up in a bun. She wore a low cropped blouse and Gilles noticed her chest and curves had yet to develop. He didn't think such thoughts from a lewd place, but simply admired her innocence.
It would be nice, to be that age again.
Likewise out of the corner of her eye the girl stared back up at him. Maybe it was because she thought he was some sort of lord, that a sort of peace flooded over her. She had been brainwashed with fairy tales about princes coming to rescue little princesses, like all children were. The thought crossed her mind that maybe she was completely bewitched by some dark magic. His aura lured her towards him and her heart quickened like a small animal, without her knowing what it was.
When they arrived back at his estate, they entered the dining room which had an extremely long table. He brought out an array of food, it wasn't anything properly cooked, just whatever he had in the pantry. Since Gilles hardly did more than binge drink, he had plenty of meat, bread and cheese to spare. It was more than a peasant girl would ever see all at once, and she perked up in visible excitement. She looked at him, waiting for permission. Her hunger was at its limit. When he nodded she eagerly sat down and grabbed whatever she could within reach. Her suspicion of this older man appeared to fade away with every slice of meat she shoved in her mouth.
She is very cute, Gilles thought and admitted he liked children. He propped his head up in his hand, with his elbow on the table.
'Our home is very small, do you live here all by yourself?' She said, gesturing to the large hall with thick slices of cheese in her hands.
He nodded solemnly. The place was decrepit but still magnificent. The spiderwebs accumulated high up in the ceiling and would continue to multiply long after he was gone. Like the castle, he felt old. Although the light wrinkles on his face weren't very apparent yet, his spirit was worn down. Grief had eaten away at that tender core like insects to fruit. He was rotting. Maybe castles appeared luxurious to peasants, but they were unaware of the sadness of a large building over the decades. They were assaulted by time, in the end they would be forever hollow and unloved. Gilles quietly laughed, realising he was exactly like this castle. On the outside he still emanated a strength and gentleness, his deep voice echoed throughout the hall.
'I'll show you around after if you want' he said.
The girl, with her mouth full of bread, perked up and nodded enthusiastically.
Gilles smiled his strange smile.
'No need to rush though'
After she had eaten, he showed her around miscellaneous areas; kitchen, outdoors and even the guest bedrooms. All of them mostly untouched since the servants left. The beds were neatly made and it was a bit unsettling, as if ghosts were the only inhabitants. Gilles now accepted he would have preferred the company of the supernatural unfortunately, he was the lone soul here.
He even went into a storage room. He walked past a cupboard and opened it up, even showed his old armour to the girl. Not really knowing why, just out of instinct.
'Are these yours? You used to be a knight?' the girl asked with surprise. Her voice was so high pitched in disbelief, Gilles might've flinched if he was asked that awhile go.
'Not exactly, that belongs to someone I used to know. He isn't around anymore', Gilles said without a hint of emotion.
'I'm sorry.' The she turned away, not knowing how to react to the moment.
The girl eyed him suspiciously. She unintentionally had drawn very close to this man now. She watched him push a long lock of hair behind his ear, in an almost semi-feminine manner. His eyebrows were close to non-existent despite his pitch black hair. Whether it was the softness of his features, the graceful movements or his deathly pale skin, he was undeniably handsome. She blushed and scratched at her head, unaware of the name for the budding feelings in her chest.
He wasn't intentionally beguiling this girl. All his life he was a gentlemen, honourable to a fault. Women just felt this way around him, he wasn't to blame, before he used to be too daft to pick up their clues.
Right now however, a dark flower had long been blossoming within Gilles. He could almost taste in the air that this small creature was fond of him. She was far too trusting of him now. An unrestrained glee was taking over his body, yet on the outside he supressed any emotion.
'This is a nice sword isn't it. It needs to be put somewhere else though' Gilles said playfully and reached for his old sword. As he did so, he gave her another acknowledging smile. She picked up that strange aroma that naturally clung to him, a comforting masculine scent. She now was completely enamoured.
There it was. A small rabbit in his claws.
Casually handling the sword at his side, the girl didn't seem to think too much of it. He wasn't quite aware what he was going to do with it. The heaviness of the iron rekindled favourable memories of the battlefield. When it held it now however there seemed to be a different itch that flared up and asked to be scratched. They wandered even all the way down to the small little room by the cellar. It was that special room. They lit a few candles outside before entering. Once he opened it up, that earthen smell of wine casks and mildew washed over him.
'Ah, there's nothing much in here' the girl said. 'Thought there might've been something interesting' she said,as she had wandered far into the room.
Upon entering this room, Gilles' breathing deepened. A low sound began to rumble out from his chest. Only a few dim candles illuminated his form from behind. In the faint darkness his eyes bulged. This sound appeared to be some sort of laughter, and the small prey in front of him was oblivious to it.
It was so trusting to him. The dark flower blossomed larger and larger in his guts, as if carrying tendrils of malice to each corner of his body. This thing had really trusted a monster like him. Poor thing.
The girl turned around and jumped a bit just at the sight, suddenly aware of the dire situation.
'Do I scare you, girl?' His voice washed over her like a poisonous vapor.
She was paralysed by it. Her mouth quivered a bit. It was exactly this reaction that drove Gilles wild. He wanted to clench his fingers deep into that living flesh and feel it struggle desperately.
'You followed me all the way over here. Don't you see now I am a horrible man', his voice croaked out.
Silhouetted against the dim light, his frightening eyes glistened faintly. His brow was knitted in anguish, unable to settle on an emotion and therefore torn between hate and despair. The girls face shivered and stared at the floor.
'N...no you aren't', she muttered.
'Don't lie' he spat back.
The child cringed into herself.
'Ah well, if only I was as ugly on the outside as I am on the inside. I'm a very ugly man. Do you want me to prove it to you?'
He picked up the thick sword and caressed its familiar hilt. What was he doing, would he actually do it? Would he inflict suffering upon another living thing. Would he use this elegant sabre to slice up a guiltless creature in front of him. This evoked hideous images in his minds eye. The blade would just bluntly mutilate her and deprive her of a merciful death. How many times would he have to bring it down upon her. How long would her mangled form be capable of screaming before she perished.
To his disgust, he could feel his member become erect underneath his gown. To be aroused in this nauseating way was unforgivable. He was anticipating with delight how she would suffer, and became excited in this most foul way. He felt his windpipe choke up as he forgot how to breathe.
This is a real sin. God would surely finally hear him and punish him.
This is what I want right?
How much more do I have to do before God hears me?
He raised the heavy chunk of metal far over his head. In the fraction of a second before he swung however, something held him back. It was the intimacy of this sword. The glimmering silver represented all the honour and beauty he used to live for. Kindness, humility and love. Jeanne's memory. A faithful spirit was wedged at the back of his mind, it was only merely silenced as he pursued hedonism. It was still alive. A memory of his piousness was still there. Yet, he was still tortuously rigid down there. His body fought with mind, torn between two absolutes of good and evil.
'See how ugly I am...do you get it?' That strained sentence escaped his tight lips. He gradually lowered his sword.
The girl, still with her arms pitifully raised in self-defence, shivered and peered through them. So paralysed she couldn't squeak. She cast her head down and flinched, muttering the one thing she thought would improve the situation.
Could she really say it.
'You are very....handsome' she fearfully mumbled, almost inaudible.
He had heard it. The words hit and Gilles dropped the sword with an empty resounding clang.
He approached the girl swiftly. She stood petrified and pathetically shielded herself. He brought his hands up almost to touch her but retracted them. Maybe he wanted her to touch him? He could imagine all sorts of wicked scenarios to choose from, but none of them really enticed him.
He stared at her through his intense dark eyes, his interest in her began to dwindle. He didn't know if his lust could violate this taboo yet. He didn't feel attraction for this snivelling infant before him. He crouched down and she felt the gaze of his black eyes sting into her.
'It's sick for a girl like you to be fond of a man like me. That's very naughty', he callously said and cocked his head playfully.
'Do you know how old I am, do I remind you of your father or something?', he uttered that distasteful sentence as the girl looked away in blatant shame.
She appeared to calm down. Gilles accepted maybe it was normal for a young girl to pine in such a way, and the temptation had enflamed him he also admitted. Is that how it's always going to be? Right now he was lost in a fantasy where his actions didn't have consequences. He looked closely at her pale eyes and homely round face, like when staring for hours at illustrations. It was simply another realistic image in this fantasy he was enduring.
Gilles remembered that he liked children. The last remaining scraps of chivalry Gilles had now took control. He flinched in inner turmoil.
His arms flopped down to his side in annoyance. He was beyond tired and stood up suddenly. Playtime had ended. He growled and exhaled as if an angered dragon having had his castle trespassed.
'Go on, get out of here. I don't care.'
He moved out of the way. The girl glanced upwards suspiciously a moment.
'Go on...you better hurry up' he gestured aggressively.
She moved around him and sprinted like her life depended on it, because to her it did. She even grabbed a heap of food from the table up in a napkin on her way out.
He stood there in the bottomless darkness for awhile. His breathing animalistic. He waited for the urge to calm down, yet beneath his garment he was still stiff. His face twinged and he grabbed at his hair.
Something was changing in him. He had been overwhelmed with the sick fantasy of completely maiming that girl in his mind, yet something was still here. The last scrap of humanity in him had yet to be shattered. He wanted it gone. Then he could be free from all these vile memories holding him back. He could be free from shame. To live in a fantasy forever.
In his choked grief, he had a rare desire. He wished anyone would touch him. Hold him. To tell him things would be alright. For anyone to tell him he wasn't becoming a monster. There was always the thought of Jeanne. He feared this shining memory of her might become tainted, if he continued to do obscene things to her image. That desecration only enticed him further.
In the fetid air of this room, he reached down to stroke himself again. Self hate was still here, but he tossed his head back and his raven hair flowed over him. He felt the one thing he knew how to feel. This pleasure of his body. When he enjoyed his figure, he felt alive. His soft moans were unlike the devil that flared up in him moments before. He breathed fervidly while shuddering delicately. At that moment, he reflected on the fact he was still a virgin. Feelings of incompetency surged through him, without him knowing the name for these emotions. He simply fondled his lust harder and harder to escape such unpleasant thoughts. These fingers were thick and strong and worked aptly despite his lack of practice. His libido was steeped in repression, misery and now...an extremely lurid wrath.
His usually anaemic face was ardently flushed red, as he pressed his forehead to the walls. Which one am I. Shy knight or this hideous creature without morals. Who am I. Could he be somewhere in the middle. He begged for some answer in his mind, but only found more torment. Two sides we're fighting for control. He whimpered mournfully this entire act. With his white skin exposed and clinging to the wall, he was at his most vulnerable. He spasmed slightly with the escalating pleasure. His sweet voice mumbling and eyes closed tight, listening solely to his body speak. Yet there was nobody to appreciate this scene. In his seclusion and reaching a climax, his mind blanked out, praying for anything to release himself from this sorrow. As he came, he thought of one single thing;
Why won't you punish me God?
A few more empty days passed. He had finally gotten some sleep and food in him and was plagued by his behaviour with the little girl. In the harsh sober light of day, he wanted to chastise himself for that evil that had overtaken him, but somehow ignored the weight of this sin. Something kept telling him such impulses were ok. Was it the spirits whispering throughout the labyrinthine passages of the castle. Something was telling him to continue to tempt God, it surely wasn't coming from within himself.
In his solitude, he imagined he was steadily becoming one of the undead. He imagined his pale skin gradually drained of colour until it took on greyish tinges in his avoidance of sunlight. He admired that his nails and hair had become quite long. Nobody was around to tell him he hadn't just died. It seemed like the fact he couldn't pass through walls was the only proof he hadn't become a ghoul just yet.
After using up all his food on that brat, he had no food for himself. His hunger had become unbearable and couldn't be sated with wine. The pangs eventually pierced through his drunken reveries and commanded that he eat something. All he had in the pantry was drying garlic and other moulding vegetables that weren't really edible. He didn't wish to die just yet, so he put on his shawl and left home. The sky was overcast and threatened to rain, it took awhile for his eyes to adjust to the blaring greyness of the outside world. The walk into town was somewhat of a bleak wasteland, he slowly made his way over there with a rucksack. Something usually he had his servants do.
In the months since he left the army and retreated into solitude, he had cut off connections with many people. He knew that girl must have told everyone she possibly could. He was well aware that the townspeople probably loathed him. What did it matter. He had toyed with the child in at least one way, so maybe he deserved to be punished.
The rumours about him travelled like wildfire. Not only because of his loss of status but many were whispering rumours about atrocities he had committed, abducting children, abusing and even killing them in the dozens. He had steadily become an outcast, fallen far from his reputation. This piqued the interest of all sorts of villains.
Whether the rumours were true or not didn’t matter, simple minded people delightfully jumped all over this. They were eager to make him the outcast for their own entertainment. He had wealth, but no honour anymore.
With every day he fell further away from the world outside. Their logic and rules stopped applying to him. It was another page in the thick book of lies, like the holy book he used to cling to. He wanted nothing to do with the rest of society.
Gilles felt eyes on him as he went to the market. Couldn't they just let him be alone? They reduced Jeanne to ash and done enough to harm him. His black eyes were downcast but acutely shifted around, sensing of the animosity of the entire town. He wished to stay alone in his castle for the rest of his days. He bought what he had to survive and started to return home.
Whether he was unaware of them or not, it didn't matter, on the long walk home three men were stalking him. Gilles was not stupid, on the contrary he was just unarmed, depressed and above all, extremely bored with life. This was something exciting. They could go ahead and rob him.
What more can they take from me?
He arrived home and looked outside in anticipation. For a moment he assumed he was safe until they smashed a window and entered. Three typical burly men who had far much more bulk than he did. They pushed him into a storage room by the kitchen. He could have attempted to fight them, he was not a weak man, but he didn't fight back. He merely stared back with his empty uninterested gaze.
Good. A beating should be fun.
As he was pinned down by multiple huge muscular arms, the leader grabbed his face and twisted it towards him.
‘So you molest little children in here, is that what you've been doing all this time?’ one of them said.
'We thought we'd punish you since nobody else is', another parroted.
By this point Gilles' face was visibly changed. His dark eyes stared back with an otherworldly calmness, with pupils slightly spaced out more than before. The best way it could be described is that his were similar to a goats. That was already an inauspicious animal and so it was starting to have that same unnerving affect on humans. Like a jet black goat, he had the eyes of a beast that looked at everything and yet nothing.
He knew in his heart he had not done anything to harm the girl, but had no interest in pathetically begging for his life. He was still prideful, even without his knighthood. In response to the mans’ question Gilles merely rolled up his eyes as he beamed a wide smile at his assailant. He maintained a resigned aura that could not be tampered with. After receiving that glance, the mans’ boner became apparent.
‘What’s with that look…’
He yanked at his long black hair, like a bratty child with a doll.
‘Everyone already thinks you’re raping children here, so it doesn’t matter what we do to you. They don’t care whether you die’
The other men grunted and grinned toothless, disgusting smiles. They were filthy, unlike Gilles who at least attempted bathing even in his grief. They pulled his clothes off and harshly pushed him down on the ground.
The other forcibly spread his legs. His brain had became sluggish after all these months in his solitude. He processed the scene slowly and finally realised what was happening, they didn't want his money.
Oh, so this is what they wanted. They want to use my body.
He tried to flail a bit but this only earned him a solid punch in the face from the ringleader. He felt the tang of blood spread over his tongue. He flicked his battered tongue in and out like a cat.
The leader proceeded to grab Gilles head and pried his mouth open. The mans dick slickly glided in past his bloodied thin lips. The man yanked him so close it entered the back of his throat and Gilles gagged slightly. He decided then and there to remain impassive despite the situation.
‘Lets see how he likes it, lets see how his face looks after all this’
Gilles thought about why this assault meant nothing to him. Should he be shocked, should he push them off of him? He was so tired. So very tired. His mind and soul had been rotting so long, what more could life throw at him.
The third man stood observing it all and proceeded to pleasure himself vigorously to the spectacle.
‘I’ll give you credit, you have an ok body’ The first man said and yanked on Gilles' hair.
To his amusement, Gilles realised he was finally getting recognition for his elegant figure, but not in the way he had hoped.
‘I think we need to ruin it a bit’
He pulled his cock out for a moment only to take a hot candle from nearby and pour it onto him. Gilles grit his teeth in agony but was resolute, still staring back with his dead eyes. The hot wax trickled and congealed over his chest with a burn that would haunt him a long time.
The man observing it all drew closer, his hand frantic while his mouth was almost frothing in pleasure. For awhile this orgiastic mayhem continued, Gilles closed his eyes and could only sense what was happening to him. The thick cock pushed up into his gullet kept his mind from straying. All he knew was, like other people of this time, it had probably not been washed much.
If he fought, did he give them more pleasure? If he loved it then...
Gilles opened his eyes and watched the masturbating man move closer. With a groan he released pungent cum over Gilles’ face. He flinched as it clung to his hair and dripped into his eyes. He felt a tiny smile begin to creep over his face. His body was turning into a masterful painting, with this oozing pale whiteness mixed amongst the crimson blood.
The other one pulled the dick out of his mouth and rubbed the steaming mass against his face. It was glazed thinly with blood and saliva.
‘You look like a fucking freak, but its still working for me’
Gilles decided to show enthusiasm and capriciously nibbled at the base out of nowhere. The man appeared to shudder to himself. Gilles realised how he could start to make the most of his situation. When the man shoved it back in, Gilles cast his dark eyes upwards, almost seductively accepting it all as deep as he could manage. The man appeared to find that erotic, since he gave off a guttural moan and finally proceeded to cum generously in his mouth. Something was awakening within him. He held some power even despite this abuse. Gilles’ gagged on the load and it trickled out. The man looked plenty satisfied with himself.
The other burly man fingered around his rear in an attempt to open him up. He wet his fingers with vile saliva but Gilles was well aware what would happen next would be painful. Before he could protest this man thrusted deep into him. His pale body tinged and his skin violently scratched up against the rough floor from the impact.
The man thrusted deeply into him and he felt it tear. Agony pierced him with every thrust from that wild man. Strange thoughts crossed his mind despite the drastic situation.
Ah, so this is finally losing my virginity right?
He could feel the other man attempting to penetrate him over and over. His body was pulsing with all types of pain, but he endured for bizarre reasons. The reason being his brain had long become slurred into a dense schizophrenic languor, hardly able to tell apart the blurry boundaries between fantasy and reality.
Oh, I must have died, am I entering hell?
Gilles stuck his semen covered tongue out playfully. He dropped his head down and broke into a choked laugh as his sturdy shoulders heaved. The muck of those two loads dripped all over him.
He let out a deep laugh thinking about how ridiculous the situation was.
'So you like it do you?’ , the man tossed back at him.
Gilles kept laughing. His voice suddenly raspier and as if controlled by a foreign entity. His confused passivity was now gone. The man assaulting his ass even pulled out for a moment.
‘Is that all you have? Oh, so pitiful.’ he exclaimed.
They stopped stunned for a moment.
‘I said, is that all you have? How sad. Don’t you have more to give me?’ , he derided them.
He was sitting with his bare ass on the stone floor, his beat-up scrawny legs spread out while hunched over. He reached out his large hands, and those otherworldly eyes rolled upwards to his captors. With the vile confidence of Satan and his face smeared with blood and cum, he was captivating.
He now derided their masculinity, their strength, their stupid cocks. His mouth almost watered as he teased them.
This insult did the trick, as the the leader grabbed another candle and pushed him over, the others pinned him down. He poured the hot yellow wax around Gilles' lower belly. He tossed back his head and howled. It collected around his navel and trickled down to his pubic area. Yet now in this agony his cock became erect.
'Hehehe, good good.' Gilles laughed and tossed his head back. He deliberately mocked orgasmic sounds as he squirmed under their restraint.
The men looked at each other and took the opportunity that presented itself to them. The other man forced open his legs and started up pummelling him from behind again. With the forceful thrusts, he yelped a bit. Somehow the rape was starting to have an effect on Gilles, he couldn't help but respond to the feeling.
I’m really being raped. He continued to laugh in this rapture. Yet by accepting this horror, he felt so full.
This is surely hell. Maybe that's the quickest way to getting Gods' attention.
They shoved him with his torso up against the wall as he was fucked relentlessly by the last man. The leader of the group took a dagger and brought it right up against Gilles throat. He pressed it against his neck, but pulled back. Instead, he grabbed all of Gilles' thick dark hair and lopped it off. It sliced through with that beautiful textured sound that only cutting hair makes. The ebony strands fell and stuck to his bruised and blooded body. The leader took pleasure in punching Gilles again and again. His lips and tongue were bleeding and he tasted the rusty liquid flooding into his mouth.
'There, you're a pretty picture now.' he said as if admiring his work.
His eyes stared back coolly. Not knowing what was possessing him, Gilles had a raging hard-on despite the damage done to him.
'So you enjoy the pain?' the leader said, noticing this.
Gilles was now forcefully shoved over onto his back by these men. This man started to choke him with those huge barbaric hands. They clamped down on his throat, and began to asphyxiate him. His face was already black and blue and his mouth choked up with various fluids. Was he dying, but this was hell wasn't it. Before he could think more, he began to lose consciousness and his mind faded to white, he reflected on a thought from before...
Is this what the word ‘cruel’ means?
‘Fine, I’ll give you something since you've endured all of that’.
He loosened his grip on his throat, but reached down and fondled Gilles' cock vigorously. It almost resuscitated him as maniacal laughter resonated from deep within his chest. He was pinned down on the floor with upper back against the wall, with at least two of them restraining him. He shuddered every time the cock rammed into his ass and yet, a golden radiance engulfed his mind more and more even amongst this vicious onslaught.
Why is there a little bit of heaven in this hell.
The other man was giving him a hand job and it became more and more unbearable. Yet he intended to torture him, and stopped for a moment to not give him the final satisfaction. The man behind him grunted and shot his cum deep within him. Gilles himself let out a cry as he bordered on climax and shuddered woefully.
'You're a child rapist, you think you deserve that, really?'
With one man still balls deep in his ass and making him bleed, it hit something far within him. He was too late since Gilles was pushed to his limit. He wondered if God was watching.
Simply from that thought alone and hardly being touched, Gilles came. This time it was not a self-loathing orgasm, but a real one. He admitted that the rapists’ cock up far within him had helped. He laughed darkly as cum continued to dribble out. He relished the gratification without shame and grinned all throughout this moment.
‘You’re fucking disgusting. I bet you shoot all over little children too’ the leader said.
It didn't matter how he was insulted or debased, his eyelashes flickered in ecstasy and his mind was long shattered. They couldn't possibly break this creature further. He didn't even touch the girl. The fantasy that God was watching was why he came so hard.
Yet even being assaulted all over, with his eye’s half closed and caked with sperm, Gilles dropped down and could only now laugh. He had years of repressed libido to fuck out of him. Years and years he just needed something to get him off. Only with sodomy and rape he could finally cum. Isn't that funny. He lathed his own cock in that mixture of blood and seed and played with it further. His dark eyes stared somewhere far away and he muttered solemnly to himself what he thought were dark incantations.
Like the illustration he was infatuated with, he was certain he was enduring a circle of hell right now. He hoped God and some angels were enjoying the scene. He believed this completely. It was the only way he could cope.
They abused him multiple times, each time he became more smeared in cum and stained with blood and bruises. Once they were done with him, they looted his home of all the most expensive things they could carry and left.
They left him lying there completely beaten beyond belief. In the frigid night air a few candles flickered. A few hours passed. Eventually, he rolled over with much effort and coughed for a moment.
They left his body so raw he ached miserably as he tried to lift himself up. He gradually stood up and donned his black robe. It elegantly slipped over his lithe body like a shadow. Even after what he had been through, it established some dignity.
He touched his face and the seed that had become crusty all over him. He had a swollen cheek that throbbed woefully. His lower end was utterly decimated, the wax left artful marks on his abdomen, every inch of his flesh was battered. This pain was so exquisite. His body was deflowered and slathered with all the filth this revolting human body had to offer. Somehow, it made him feel so full. He ruffled his coarsely cut hair then tilted his head backwards at the endless dark ceiling and laughed. He was so very ugly.
Oh, this was what I was longing for.
To have my last remaining scrap of chastity fucked out of me. So that's what I was seeking?
How amusing, this was the debasement he had begged for. He wanted this to happen, right? He laughed from the pit of nothingness. He almost expected a hellfire to engulf him right then and there but no otherworldly experience happened. A madness began to course through him. He was far beyond the point of reason. His ego was severely fractured, his large body shook as he laughed and misery set in.
His entire life flashed before his eyes, those tender days in the sunlight with Jeanne by his side. Glory, honour and fighting for something. They vanished in an instant. The best days of his life were done and gone.
His laughter became pitiful and his warm breath formed clouds in the air. Large tears pooled from his sad dark eyes and glistened down his bruised cheeks. This was the first time he had cried ever since she died. He wept now from the darkest part of his heart.
I was saving my virginity for you, Jeanne. Is this how it was supposed to happen?
No. Life doesn’t turn out how it’s planned.
At those thoughts, he felt the warmth and light of those memories become obscured. They became smeared with all sorts of putrescence. All the shameful grime from every part of his body. They were being blotted out by all this impenetrably thick, pitch black sin. His sense of self shattered. Who was he, who is he? He couldn't restrain his howls. Gripping at his short black hair, as if trying to claw his way back the man he used to be. He trembled as those animal-like eyes streamed with tears. He didn't want to admit it.
So was that Gods' punishment finally? Did he hear me?
An even worse thought crossed his mind. No, God hadn't done anything. God didn't care. All the evil he had done was for his own revolting enjoyment. His face contorted more in anguish, he brought his fearsome hands up to his face in a sad attempt to conceal this shame.
He had enjoyed being utterly violated.
He had never meant to hurt that rabbit.
He screamed like a wounded creature in its death throes. Grasping his head desperately and convulsed a moment.
God. Did you see me.
He screamed that voicelessly up to the ceiling. The next moment, his large body went limp. His head hung down. As if his spirit left his body, he became completely empty.
A silence passed.
He began to move again. Gradually he swayed around the chamber, his body moving in a slow dance while his mind was vacant. Far past midnight and stuck in a trance, he hummed an old folk song he couldn't remember the name of. After being raped within an inch of his life, Gilles fully understood that love was a fable. His laugher began to rumble again, now resonating from a sinister core in this soul nobody could ever access.
It was the sealed away sadness of a completely insane man. His ravaged body danced like a wandering child and his perverted laughter reverberated across the dead stone walls. The sweet face of that noble knight was now long gone.
His cries were stifled by these walls. Those thick stone walls he loved so very much, because they couldn't judge.
Someone, show me more.
Beyond all that violence.
Give me something beyond sodomy...
Give me something beyond cruelty...
and God punish me, for all of this.