|Ascend from Dust to a Breeze
Author: VaRuka PM
Complete The climatic battle rages on, grisly trudging to its end. And from the end a new begining. (My version of the end of Underworld, and of the beginning after the end of the war.)Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Romance - Chapters: 9 - Words: 14,927 - Reviews: 20 - Favs: 12 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 02-01-04 - Published: 10-11-03 - Status: Complete - id: 1555350
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Ascend from Dust to a Breeze
.An Underworld fanfiction.
By VaRuka (Sloth to herself, Servant to everyone, Dominatrix to writing)
Author's Note: This is my rewriting of the last sequences of events in Underworld. Also, there will be some events that take place after the my rewritten ending of Underworld that I find fit for the characters. Yay. Yeah. Rock on. Rock off. Just take the rock and throw it.
(clamber to the emotional peak
totter on the knifelike edge
between the dark and lights of
rage and dismay and hate
and love and joy
to get lost in the ineffable depths
lost to outsiders that do not
- By VaRuka
.Live to Feel.
Selene does not know what to do, let alone say after lifting her eyes to his form; all trains of thought have disembarked out her ears, drooping onto the decrepit subway station floor. Her mind is just registering that she has found Michael . . . strapped to a vertical hospital bed, delicious body sweaty from the taxing nights activities toll, hair dashingly straggly and falling in his face to his nose, pale brown eyes wide with relief and brimming with adoration directed precisely her way. He is certainly the basket of apples Snow White once plucked her demise from. *Oh, Selene, what have you to say for yourself now,* she rhetorically ponders, *you traitor? But would I have it any other way?*
A second or two later, she severs eye contact to focus on the beast under her, instincts kicking in and three rounds go deep into the werewolf's skull, positively ensuring its death.
Now with her mind cranked back up from its momentarily relapse, she steps past the dead werewolf's steaming carcass and strides confidently over to him; with boots thumping, hair sexily jouncing, heart fluttering as a butterfly to its beloved flowers, and face attempting to show no emotion. Michael on the other hand, is laying himself bare to her searing gaze, his face is utterly candid, vibrantly reflecting his inner feelings, as he intensely leans from his bonds towards her oncoming figure; breathing in huffs and puffs, heart pounding out a mantra into his chest of astronomical love for this lethal rose in skin tight leather.
The wolf in him gutturally howls out: Mine!
"I need to get you out of here." Selene forces these words from her dry throat, eyes reconnecting with his. "Viktor is loose in the underworld as we speak," Her body is now but a fine hair away from his--both draw full breaths of the other's scent, cementing it to memory, fearful they may never have another chance again to be in the other's presence, "and is on a rampage killing lycans, and will . . ."
Ducking her head, she watches her unsheathed claws urgently rake through the nylon straps, tears brimming in her chocolate eyes. " . . .will kill you on sight . . ."
Michael stares at her features as if bedazzled by her everything, soaking in her words and actions through the lusty fog they equally create while near the other. The nylon quite easily rips for her lengthened nails, releasing the once snared Michael from his imprisonment. Gracefully, he ascends off the examination table to the welcoming ground, gaze never once leaving Selene's downcast eyes.
As his hand brazenly cups her pale silken cheek, a bloody tear from Selene's eye, so fragile, so minuscule, gravitates to the dirty floor; manifesting one clear and clean ruby blot, signifying something larger than either can imagine at this point in time, providing a clue to tonight's outcome.
"They'll kill you, too," Michael murmurs, rubbing his thumb in a soothing gesture upon her cheek, "just for helping me."
Selene languidly boosts up her head while caressing her tepid cheek to his warm palm. The reply to his comment a simple one, needing no musing before vocalization:
He gently settles his forehead against hers; lips close in proximity, ragged breaths mingling. "What do we do?"
*Kiss . . .?* they both offer in thought.
And so, with acute haste the lycan and the vampire fuse mouths. Within seconds the mouths open to release swaying tongues, which are hedonically put to work. Swiftly, Michael snakes his arm around her waist, virulently tugging her shapely body until it is flush against his, which divulges to her his growing arousal. She promptly responds with an elegant moan of pleasure through the pyretic kisses and gasps of breaths, while also coiling her own arm securely around his neck, arranging the kisses to be deeper.
They both feel the spherical world, the ragging chaos of their surroundings, the bloody war of which they are in the middle, the strident hate snugly cloaking lycans and vampires, the whole everything of everything dropping like acid rain to never rear its horrid self again . . .
Only the blaze of their newfound love is visible behind their eyelids, in their ears, tingly each nerve, and flooding their minds.
* I've found someone, after all these bleak years. Never had I thought it possible, never had I thought I could feel, truly, genuinely, sincerely feel anything other than dark hate,* Selene rapturously thinks. *Now I have been proven wrong.*
From each stroke of tongue and each caress of hand this ice queen's heart thaws into a thermal puddle which Michael greedily laps up into his being, and his shattered heart, so broken from long ago love, mends like a demolished mirror seen in reverse. *Okay, I can live with being a lycan-werewolf monster, chain me up on full moons, feed me lots of meat, blah, blah, blah, as long as this vampire, this woman stands right here, by my side,* he hopefully thinks.
Their hearts, their immortal hearts, now belong to each other.
Take good care, says both cards, these things are delicate.
So many moments later, they come crashing down from their ineffable high. Heads back on earth and not floating in the clouds, the outside world and all the things they promised themselves to forget, sink their talons back into Selene and Michael's minds and senses. Gunshots, wounded cries, feral howls, cat-like hisses, tramping heavy paws, light running footsteps, lethal whip lashes ominously echo from the other passage ways.
Selene quite reluctantly edges away from Michael. Both are breathing like track runners. Both are tingling from what the other has invoked in their body, mind, and soul. They glance at the doorway out of the makeshift underground lab to the frenzied war zone beyond, and then back to each other at the same time.
"I have to get you to safety." She raggedly chokes out, eyes still moist with tears held at bay, unwanted, unneeded, but yet still forming from the sticky situation they are in.
He steadily shakes his head and stubbornly replies:
"We have to get us to safety."
"Right, then." Selene gravely agrees, vowing to herself to never let him out of her sight, to protect him from anything and everything . . . to kill whatever and whomever may jeopardize his safety, and their twisted, asphyxiating love.
She does this silently as Michael unwittingly does the same.
Before they set off she extends one of her hands to his like a little lost child, eyes imploring him to lovingly accept without question, while in the same liquid movement she swipes up one of her balefully loaded Beretta pistols with her other hand. Michael examines her stance with a critical eye, assessing the dragon before him, so dazzling in her porcelain attributes and indubitably deadly. His eyes zero in on her snowy hand . . . and he clasps it in his own.
An urge to just shout all for one and one for all bubbles forth in him, but he stifles it under the grim circumstances.
Selene stares at their joined hands in joyous wonder. She never thought a union between their species possible, let alone, successful. But hope roars inside of her like a century year old wet match somehow empowered with its long evanesced ability, and is brilliantly lit inside her being. Michael stares along with her; astringently hoping they make it out of this apocalyptic hell hole alive, and together, to explore every nook and cranny of his new love with her.
Their trust finalized, she has one more thing to do--well, basically say. She lifts her head to bore her eyes at him, face serene, ready for anything, but dreading.
"Do you love me, Michael?" The words are but whispers, and if he was not a lycan than his ears would have never heard the thick, soft, and vulnerable syllables.
The world seems to stop its spin as she waits.
His counter is also a barely there whisper, and so frightened is he, that his voice trembles as he speaks, though he masks it a bit with a light tone. "Do you feel the tug of invisible hooks every time I'm near? Does your body thrum from my touch? When your eyes meet mine does everything fade into nothing? Does the thought of me make your insides flip flop? Do I puzzle you into madness? If I'm not around do you yearn for me?" Wholeheartedly into his speech, his voice rises in crescendo and each word has heavier, thicker emotion. "When we just kissed did you feel that something . . . that cosmic something . . . ?"
She duly answers, with dripping passion lathered on a enthralled, "Yes."
"Then," He shakily shoots her a charming smile; eyes shy under the floppy tentacles of his disarrayed chestnut hair, "you know how I feel."
She flings back a radiant smile, revealing pearly white fangs with fine sharp points. "In classic movie doomed love, with a vampire."
"You could put it that way."
She tilts her head, to view his frank demeanor at a different angle, shoulder-length satiny hair falling in her eyes so she gazes at him through sable strands. "I certainly shall." A smile curves those lips of hers. "We have the same dilemma; I am in doomed love with a lycan."
A serious beat to consider this whole mess. Everything. Anything. *I choose my side,* Michael solemnly thinks, *and its: our own.*
They gently squeeze their laced fingers. Eyes are locked, transferring message after message of love and sorrow, hope and defeat. *Love conquers all,* she randomly thinks, *or at least it should.* Selene audaciously steps forward, followed by Michael, into the gory abyss on the other end of the tunnel. No looking back. No looking forward. They both focus on the now, and luckily, making it out of this monstrous Transylvania horror story unshackled from the middle of the vampire vs. lycan out of control genocidal war, with their love still strong as the suns rays, and both equally, alive.