The Manor Borne

You are here:
< Back

In a nutshell, it’s my headcanon of Dark as a Hellgod meshed with the ending of Who Killed Markipler? It turned out pretty damned good, I think (and, to me, it’s preferable to thinking of our sweet Damien being corrupted by the demon Dark). Enjoy! 🙂

(Gif by toonprincess on Tumblr.)

Fifteen years He’d been trapped in this house.

Fifteen years He’d been too weak to do more to find other worlds than this. Other worlds that would have been more welcoming, more apt to sustain Him.

His very presence was altering the admittedly thin, gauzy fabric of their reality, had driven the master of the house to suicidal extremes and caused those still dwelling there to lose control of their temperaments. They felt His presence keenly, without truly understanding why or what was among them, a pack of mostly-hairless primates chasing their long-abandoned tails as they struggled to understand the dark forces that had taken up residence in their household.

The dark forces that were an extension of Him, a part of His aura. An aura that was currently wavering and snaking through every room unchecked, rather than holding its shape as He bid it.

It was not something He’d intended to happen.

He had hoped to lay low for awhile, quietly, while healing from the damage that had been inflicted on Him in the long, arduous battle in the world He’d retreated from. But the fuss these creatures were making was drawing attention to the house… to Him. He would have had more control over the echoes of His aura, were He not so badly injured. The injuries themselves would have proven quite fatal were He not immortal, and a God at that. In that sense, He could be considered lucky to be alive.

But this turn of events would never do. And so He did what came naturally, using the lesser entities around Him to suit His purposes.

However, these creatures were far too fragile, their bodies unable to contain His raw essence; a fact He’d learned, much to His consternation, from His admittedly brief possession of the female. Her form had only lasted Him for a few scant minutes, before cracking and then becoming incinerated in the fiery totality of His power. Thinking that it might be the females of this species that were weak, He then took over her male companion more out of curiosity than plan… but the boy hadn’t lasted for much longer than the girl had.

Their bodies destroyed, and He more exhausted than before from the sheer effort at trying to find a suitable vessel and failing, He didn’t think twice about consuming their souls. The much-needed transfer of energy aided Him, but only slightly at best, and He was able to gain a fresh perspective on their world by absorbing their memories.

The district attorney, He realized, might have been the smallest member of the group… but was also, paradoxically, of a more resilient physicality. He would have to nudge things in just the right direction to enable possession of that one’s body. It wouldn’t last, of course, but He just needed to take a form long enough to leave this world for another, more suitable, one.

The colonel was of an unstable mentality. That could prove useful at such a time.

A whisper in the colonel’s ear about his friends – the woman and her companion – being taken, and the colonel had quickly leapt to the conclusion that the detective had been responsible.

Then all He had to do was sit back and wait for the inevitable explosion of anger. The bright splashes of violent colour to His demonic perceptions, that were brought on by such emotion ensorcelled Him. It pleased Him to no end to know that, even in His convalescent state, He could still direct others to do His bidding.

The gunshots rang out with the resonant clarity of a clock tower’s bell. The district attorney’s wounded body fell from the banister, crashing to the floor below. The body was damaged but, He was delighted to note, not so weakened as to be worthless.

It was a simple act of persuasion after that, to convince the confused spirit of a dying body to let Him in. He implanted the images of the now long dead seer and mayor in His latest victim’s mind, convinced them that it was this Celine and Damien that were requesting assistance.

It wasn’t hard at all, really. But it left Him feeling tired, once again. And this weakness in Himself enraged Him.

He propelled the spirit of the dead attorney into the mirror; let this one’s presence be the explanation for the chaos that had enveloped the house during His tenure. An upset and confused poltergeist wreaking havoc was a perfectly reasonable explanation for those lesser beings, especially as they weren’t well-versed in matters of the supernatural here.

Appearing in the form of their late leader was a choice brought on through the inspiration of the moment, when He had seen the man’s cane and the memories of Damien’s life crept back into His awareness. He had honestly preferred that man’s form, and would have remained in it had Damien’s body been strong enough. But it didn’t take much to alter the structural composition of the DA’s broken and dead body to the one He found more pleasing to His eyes.

Taking the cane in His hands, the metaphorical symbol of the erstwhile mayor’s rulership, the trans-dimensional entity allowed Himself a brief moment of wistful recollection. Longing for His own dwelling, His homeworld, His throne… His murdered mate who He’d promised immortality, but didn’t do so immediately because He’d thought they had more time.

Everything that had once mattered in His long existence, now denied to Him. Everything He had known and loved… gone. He inwardly keened at the loss that still pained Him as surely as the physical wounds to His True Form.

He closed His new eyes, as He examined the feel of this vessel. It wouldn’t last very long either, but it would provide for Him as a vehicle to contain Himself while traveling from this dimension to another.

He opened His eyes again. All this needless waste of life, these wasted years as He had suffered in silence, in this house that had been His prison in exile… This weakness of both His True Form and the vessel He’d been forced to take.

It was all such a waste. He had been made to wander, a pariah seeking asylum far from the realm that had once been His domain. It was an ignoble fate for a creature of such grand and fearsome design as He. It was a grave, most grievous insult.

One day, He would return to His realm… and He would make every single one of His betrayers pay dearly for that. He would take copious pleasure in that moment, ripping out their hearts and feasting on the fleshy muscle as they watched with dying eyes. Revenge would be the sweetest nectar He’d ever tasted, of that He was sure.

Fueled by rage against His former subjects in a world now far from this one, He turned away from the mirror. He let the combustion of His rage carry Him as, purpose renewed, He opened a gateway to another world. One close to this one, not by spatial distance (as the geometry of the space between worlds was far more complex than a three-dimensional perception allowed) but by the similarity of the beings it was peopled with. He knew about these creatures now, these humans, but hopefully the humans in this new world He’d soon enter would be more resilient.

The empty house lay deep in the silence of His departure, desolate and despairing, as it cradled the voiceless dead.


Posted by

Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.