Blood Feud

Disclaimer: All characters involved in sexual relationships are over 18 years of age, and no minors are sexually exploited in this content. In no way are actual events or persons depicted. The mythology in this content is only loosely based on historical mythology and should not be seriously analyzed. Please remember to use protection while engaging in sex. The author of this story is not gay. Enjoy.

***

It wasn't the first time I had mysteriously felt attracted to another man. I had been around plenty of other youth with strong, athletic bodies back in my days of training at the daemen academy of war. I had even dared steal furtive glances at some of the more charismatic daemen instructors on occasion. The daemen who ran the academy were different from the keepers of the human colony where I had experienced my regrettable childhood. They looked as individuals, like humans look apart from one another, but they shared distinctive features that easily identified them as a unified race.

It surprised me how similar the bodies of the daemen were to that of ordinary humans. I suppose I had never really thought about what lied beneath the heavy armor before I was able to see them clad in sparse robes and communicating freely. Passing on the horns, spiked backs, and reptilian tails— daemen looked just like men in fact. Of course, they were also much taller on average and had otherworldly eye colors varying from deep reds to the palest pinks. They had all the necessities for mating as well, and my assumption was the gods of love and beauty still favored them enough despite the war.

No. Don't think of that now...

I shook myself from surreal memories of the academy and attempted to finish the painful, monotonous task of treating my wounds with a silent mind. But no matter how I tried, I couldn't keep my thoughts from straying to a time when my sex drive was less quelled inside me. The academy was terrible in ways that my home in the colony never was. At the same time, it was better there.

It was a stupid mistake. There is no need to remember.

The dream I had been trying to shun popped suddenly into my mind. It was like getting hit on top the head with a stone, and then looking up to see a rock slide crashing down. I had no control over the memory once I began to recall it.

The daemen needed human soldiers to cushion their numbers, distract their enemies, and for the capability to steal holy weapons that they could not touch with their own hands. I had been forced to stay in one of the rowdiest top classes until the next duty call. I was 19 when I had met him. It had been about acceptance, the sex that is. But... had I loved him?

My mind and heart were in turmoil since meeting Argetlus, and I had only known him for a small collection of minutes. I had to know if it was the same as before. So I freed my mind from its protective cage as I continued unwrapping bandages to apply the salve.

***

4 Years Ago -- Camp Ritur'ahrin, Red Band Block

The metallic taste of blood was strong in my mouth. My lip had been cut open, and my eye was black. The one who had cut me was standing over me with a monstrous grin on his face.

"Aww. He's crying."

"I guess he really is a sheboy."

"Eat shit, sheboy!"

I was kicked in the ribs on my left side, and the wind was knocked from my lungs. In pursuit there were more kicks from all around me, attacking my most vulnerable areas. The world became a sea of kicks, and I was treading water. I threw up my head and screamed.

"I am

not

a sheboy!"

For the outburst I was rewarded with cruel snickers and more kicks. I twisted my head sharply around and scowled at the group of daemen mentors standing beneath the nearby rest pavilion in watch. A tall one with cherry red hair wound into a long braid shook his head in disappointment. His name escapes me now, but I knew him well enough to understand why he was disappointed in me. If I couldn't fend off my own peers, how would I survive on the battle field? I had finally been on the earth for 19 years after all, three years since I was brought to the academy after being selected in that fateful colony draft. I was at the peak of my strength and in the red band group, the highest camp class. The red bands were composed of young men aged 18 to 21. Everyone older from our crop had joined other camps or had already been carted off to battle. In only weeks, possibly days, I would depart to one of the five battle zones where I would fight on the front lines of the daemen "utility army". That was what they officially called it, but I had heard them joke about the "slaughter-line" just as often.

"Hey sheboy. Blow me." said the grinning youth, tugging at his waistband and moving his hand toward me again.

I rose off my knees and dashed through an opening between him and two more of the immature brutes. The pointed nubs in the barbed wire around my wrists sliced further through my skin with every painful movement. My eyes darted for something that I could make use of as a weapon or an obstacle.

"After him! You two tarry!"

My bare feet padded down the weeds as I fled. I sprinted naked across the field as the cold wind nuzzled into the high, golden grass around me. I heard them catching up behind me. Only three sets of foot steps. That meant there were five more of them going other ways. The resident sadist creep who was serving as leader had commanded two of them pick up the ambush, but he must have used a hand gesture to indicate some other strategy. I closed my eyes.

I will not disappoint you again, Master.

I thought like a silent prayer. But daemen didn't pray.

When I opened my eyes there was a tree in my direct path. I kept running, managing five strong steps upward against the trunk before pushing off. I sailed over the first attacker's head and kicked myself into a sprint in the opposite direction. I had come down fast enough to weave between the other two, but only because they had stayed spread out in preparation for a much wider turn around. I heard their shouts behind me, warning the others. I kept running. My plan was to lose them and hide in the brush for awhile. I could find a way to untie my hands given enough time alone. Then I could make clothes of leaves and grass and sneak back into camp for revenge. Pranks like the one I was caught up in were played all the time, but I imagined it couldn't have been any better in the camps with women. I thought little of humanity in general.

My eyes stung as I weaved through the thick vegetation, around trees, and over bushes. I stomped thistles and thorns until I was leaving bloody footprints in the dirt. The trail came into sight. I crossed past it because I knew they would be waiting for me along its easy footing. I circumnavigated camp and zigzagged as much as physically possible while trying to prevent leaving too obvious a trail. Their shouts resonated further and further away, and soon I was running side by side with a marked path that I was not familiar with. Evasion had always been my strongest skill.

I crossed onto the new path in desperation, and that's when I saw him. Or rather, when I collided with him head first. A daeman man, dressed richly in purple robes with a flowing red trim. I knocked him to the ground at the impact, kept falling past him, and landed flat on my face. He sat there motionlessly looking over at me with startled pink eyes tinged in amethyst. His pupils were violet instead of black and slanted at a grotesque angle. A mane of tousled pink curls the color of summer wildflowers framed his pale face. The curves of his high cheekbones were outlined with shiny pink scales that matched his hair, which was decorated with complex restraints made from strings of silver beads and rare jewels. His strong, bone white horns were adorned with stacks of golden rings encrusted with smaller jewels of many brilliant colors. I remember thinking he was pretty. But somehow it was different than thinking the same of a woman. Most daemen were creepily pretty after all, but his features were chiseled and handsome. I stared at him wild eyed. My exposed body was coated in dirt, bruises, and blood, and I could not even cover myself because my hands were still tied behind my back. He smiled sheepishly, and my heart fluttered in my chest.

There were shouts in the distance. I looked in the direction of camp, my breath catching in my throat. I heard him stand. I flinched my gaze back over to him. Leaves and grime clung to his lavish robes.

"Don't worry." he said to me, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"<Prince Klarsi!>" an older daeman called sternly up the trail.

The prince called something back, also in the daeman tongue. I knew honorifics and brief phrases needed to understand battle commands, but little else from direct instruction. I had picked up on a few common sayings here and there, but I wasn't entirely sure what he had responded with. I think he was writing off our rough encounter as him tripping and falling by accident. He sounded humorously melodramatic. The prince turned and winked at me. I blinked dumbly at him in return, but not for long.

A daeman noble servant with a stressed mound of white hair and a small gathering of guards came rushing up the trail at the sound of his voice. I darted into the bushes like a jumping-viper to avoid their detection. His servant began to hang all over the daeman prince, jabbering in their harsh, growl filled language endlessly while he pointed in the general direction of the guards with an accusing hand. The prince smiled and flipped his hair. It would have seemed like an arrogant gesture in different circumstances, but I realized it was actually a nervous habit from my vantage point behind the leaves. The prince did not make eye contact with his inferiors while he spoke brief words of reassurance.

I tried my hardest not to shiver in the cool air and give myself away. I dared not move an inch, or even breathe, until they departed back towards camp. The sun was setting. I looked down at the trail where the prince had been knocked, and there was a short bone bladed knife glinting in the dirt. The handle was carved in the shape of a fire lizard's head, the royal symbol of the daemen.

*

The prince had arrived at the academy that day against his father's wishes. He had decided on a whim to take stock of the human soldiers who were being used in several territories of importance. At least, that is what I had heard everyone whispering around the sick tent. I lied in my cot wretchedly, fearing discovery by several people I would rather avoid at all costs. My classmates, who would shun me for failing the exercise and making an ass out of myself. My instructor, who undoubtedly would have some sort of punishment ready for skipping training to linger in the sick tent. And my mentor as well, who was probably the most disgusted with me of all. After my humiliating encounter with the prince however, all my motivations had been drained away like a head cold. I had heard he was eccentric. That was always the rumor. I had no idea he was a fucking pacifist. It went against the very nature of the prideful, warlike daemen who referred to themselves as "Titans". He could have easily ordered me executed just for touching him, let alone assaulting him in the forest while naked. Instead he had helped me out of a rather bad spot. In any case, I never expected to see him again. It was as I was about to drift off into a dark, fearful sleep when I heard his deep, husky voice.

"Are you awake?"

I shivered and opened one eye. It was him, watching me. His tall, slender form was cloaked in a heavy shadow inside the unlit tent, but his unmistakable purple tinged eyes were glowing a smile at me.

"Glad to see you well." he said diplomatically. "I ordered your instructors to give you the day off for your recovery."

I just stared at him, becoming more lost in a frozen, voiceless tomb the longer his eyes radiated in the dark in my direction. My own eyes must have been ready to explode, because he flickered a glance at my hands. My fists balled instinctively, and I felt goosebumps creeping on my arms. He was looking at the bandages on my wrists in a way I could not interpret. I felt my blood run cold.

"I want to talk to you. In my chambers." he broke the silence.

"Y-your majesty?" I suddenly remembered to say, then realized in shock I was in no way to question a daeman noble even after being addressed.

He laughed softly.

"Don't look so scared. I wouldn't eat the likes of you. But actually, that's sort of what I wanted to talk with you about."

He grinned in what I supposed was a good natured way, displaying his neat rows of shiny, pointed teeth unique to daemankind in the grey darkness. I lost my voice again.

"Well. Come with me." he insisted, actually touching me with his hand.

Then I realized he was inflicting demanding pulls to my shoulder to ease me up. I complied, and the instant I was out of the cot, I was ready to fall flat on my face in an awkward attempt at a bow. He jerked me up by the strap of my pants, which rattled me into straightening up and holding my breath. I stared at him in astonished disbelief. He was close enough for me to see the outlines of his face, and as I watched he held a finger before his lips and quietly shushed me. I realized he had come to see me in secret, and I was even more baffled than I had been earlier.

"This way, Dearie." the prince grinned as he led me from the tent with my hand in his.

*

He had apparently insisted on staying at the academy long enough to visit all of the camps. Mine was composed of the youngest group of male recruits. There was also the females only camp, and two more for older human trainees that were coed. Every camp was composed of five classes, and it would have taken a great deal of time and ground to see all of what the academy had to offer.

I could see the prince more clearly outside in the light from the early night's moon. He had let his hair down from its extravagant bead and jewel encrusted restraints and tied it at the bottom with a plain black band. He was wearing simple grey robes in place of his royal attire, and no bracelets or rings. I suddenly remembered the knife, hidden in the pocket fold of the generic uniform the workers at the sick tent had provided me with.

"Your majesty." I inquired. "I should return this to you."

I pulled out the sheathless bone blade and held it in my palm with the handle facing him.

"Keep it." he said with a dismissive wave. "I have entire rooms filled with more."

When we arrived at the prince's tent, I anticipated legions of guards to swoop out of every shadow and beat the shit out of me.

"I gave everyone orders to leave me to my dinner in privacy." the prince explained when he saw my wary expression. "Of course they didn't like it, but if any of them disobey me, I could just order them to kill themselves."

Apparently finding this hilarious, the prince began to chuckle with a certain maniacal note in his voice while I stood by uncomfortably. I tried not to stare, fearing eye contact would somehow provoke him.

"Step inside." he dictated with a bizarre shift to boredom in his tone.

He pushed me forward gently enough, but I tripped and almost tore down half the tent trying to catch myself. The prince draped my arm over his shoulders and grabbed my pants to pull me up again. He tugged a little too hard, and I winced at the feel of my underclothes tightening over my bruised groin. He met my eyes then and looked down at me very closely. I could smell a floral but masculine perfume on him. He wore a serious expression, like he was asking me if I was alright, but there was a glint in his inhuman, amethyst eyes that wasn't solemn at all. I blushed unconsciously. He pulled me inside his tent without releasing me.

It was a warm and spacious tent, and at least ten times larger than the ones human recruits were issued. I slid my eyes from the prince's inhumanly gorgeous face to stare at the decorative patterns woven into the fine fabric the tent was made of. I had never seen cloth dyed so colorfully or artfully. A red, velvety tarp had been lain over the grass inside, but with the numb, bandaged soles of my feet I only noticed because of the color. There were clusters of large white candles wedged in each corner of the tent carrying a scent like moon roses. They illuminated the tent with faint, wispy lights that dramatized the heavy shade. There was a low lying triangular table in the center designed for three people to eat at. Several large bowls decorated with finely inked patterns were waiting there, steam billowing from their rims. The prince walked me over to the table and sat me down on one of the three place mats.

"Comfy?" he breathed into my ear.

I flinched and blushed mutely. I wasn't sure that was the least offensive response, but he seemed to find it pleasant enough because he chuckled and rose back to his full height. My palms began to sweat as I sat there without saying a word, eyes affixed meekly to the tabletop as he moved behind me.

"One moment."

I heard him undo his robe and flick out his hair near a back corner of the tent. He padded back over to me and took one of the remaining seats.

"So. I believe the translations are... 'sage pork', 'steamed vegetables', and 'Wretalorian snapping hen rolls'?" he slammed his bare feet up on the tabletop one at a time as he spoke, making me flinch twice.

He had four long, clawed toes on each foot. I eyed his impressively clean soles. My gaze slid along his legs to his tight, grey tunic that displayed his firmly built torso. Daemen had more sets of muscles in their abdominal regions and arms, and all of his were finely tuned. He was packing a bulging eight pack and a powerful set of forearms.

"Have absolutely as much as you like. I sent my adviser away before he could mooch. Serves him right for bothering me all day."

"T-thank you, your majesty." I sought his approval. "I am most—"

"Klarsi!" he shouted suddenly, and I nearly died of a heart seizure. "Please, call me Klarsi. There is no need for ridiculous customs and honorifics here. As long as no one else is around that is."

I wondered then if the prince's motives for helping me were simply that he wanted companionship. Perhaps he was fed up with his life as an untouchable emblem of honor and royalty for the daemen people and desired normal relationships with others, even if it meant being friends with a human. I took a steadying breath and prepared to speak in earnest.

"Thank you, Klarsi. I.. I'm not sure what to say. You.. you spared my life, and now you're giving me—"

A warm, tasty morsel entered my mouth, and its juices exploded into the most delicious flavors my tongue had ever known. I stared cross eyed at Klarsi, who was smiling cheerfully as he held his large silver spoon inside my mouth. He pulled the spoon out of my still open mouth and licked its trough with a long, red tongue.

"What do you think? You like it, don't you?"

Klarsi spooned a generous proportion of the ham bits onto a plate and slid it over to me before I could respond. The prince of daemen had just served me dinner.

"So, what's you're name, Dearie?"

"I-I don't have one. T-thank y—"

"What? No name? That won't do! I understand recruits are given numbers here, but what about before this dreadful hog run? No offense. What was your name in your home city?"

"Uh.. I.. I don't know what it was. I mean..." I paused, looking up at him and waiting for another one of his random interruptions. But he was silent for once and examining me so closely that I quickly looked away.

"I'm uncertain if I ever had one to begin with because I never knew my parents. The colony I grew up in. There were a lot of orphaned children there. Many adults with small children were taken away. I always figured both my parents had been. And theirs as well maybe."