Sweet Pandemonium

“Shh. Quiet, now. I’m not like the others that’ve come here looking for something to satisfy their twisted pleasures. You’re too beautiful to be here. Far, far too beautiful. Tell me, what monster put you in this place?” His voice was soft, not cruel and rough like the last one’s had been. He didn’t have any of the scratchy stubble, either; his face was relatively smooth and was not as unpleasant to touch.

Asked a question, the youth admitted freely that he had no knowledge of who had brought him here. Under his breath, he said that he had no family. He couldn’t quite remember why. Had they abandoned him? Had they been murdered by a passing gang of thieves, and he had happened to be the only survivor? Or had he perhaps strangled them to death with his own pale hands? It was all an incomprehensible blur. He was an orphan now; none of that mattered any longer, whatever bits and pieces still lingered inside his cluttered head. Everyone was the same and nothing but pain and torture existed within these four walls. Hardly anyone was ever gentle.

A finger lifted his chin to make him gaze into a pair of sincere, steel blue eyes. “You’re unlike the others,” said the young man with a hint of fondness. “Yes, you’re very different from all of them… and what oddly colored eyes.” A kiss to the forehead amongst shaggy ultramarine locks, and then nothing at all.

Hours passed. Days, weeks, perhaps even months slithered by. The youth did nothing but fulfill his ‘tasks’ in that prison. Over time, curiosity began to plague him. He started to wonder if the man would return, since almost everyone that came to him would revisit for one reason or another. When he finally did, the adolescent was surprised. Not pleased, not angered, but simply surprised.

“I’ll take you with me,” the man said, his eyes glimmering. His tones held a subtle promise in the deepest depths of them, one that was tempting and enticing and good enough to taste. “You’re too beautiful to be here in this drab and wretched place. I’ll take you with me. I’ll steal you away from this hell and take you to a paradise. Would you like that?”

Slowly, hesitantly, the youth nodded. He hated it here, but what other life did he know? He parted his lips, whispering, “What should I call you? How… How will I know—?”

“No, no names,” was the curt yet admonishing reply. “Names form attachments and express closeness. Don’t give me a name. You already know who I am. You have no name and yet I know who you are, so do me the same courtesy. Don’t worry; we know one another. That’s all that matters. I can find you. Don’t doubt me.” Silky brunet hair brushed against his face. Another touch, another kiss to the forehead, and then nothing at all. He was gentle; he granted hope. A paradise? Anywhere was better than here. Anywhere at all. As long as the youth was away from all of these greedy, insatiable people, he would be satisfied.

Time crawled by. The typically silent boy with dreary blue hair and golden eyes became more inquisitive with its passing. “What day is it?” he would ask. His voice was always smooth but barely audible, even in the company of pure silence. “What time? What week? What month?” In turn, the overseers would always answer him with brutality. Bruises formed on his skin, purpling and growing black with more abuse with every question escaping his lips, but he didn’t care. Freedom, paradise, Eden—the one and the same, it called to him. He wanted out. He wanted out of this place so badly.

He wasn’t quite sure how long it had been. Definitely months. Perhaps a year? No one would tell him the time any longer, even the more lenient ones. They simply got sick of his probing and ignored him completely. They didn’t even bother to strike him anymore. That was mostly because of the complaints that customers gave; not many wanted to see the hideous, grotesque marks of purple and blue all over his body, and a few wanted to be their creators. The youth wondered where the one who had made him that promise was amongst all of the others who came to him. He had no sense of time; he couldn’t remember when he had seen him last. It felt like a nightmare. A perverse, never-ending nightmare that amplified every clout, thrust, word, and bruise. The ache that they inflicted wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been before, though. He had gotten used to it. His pain threshold had increased and he could endure more of their ‘pleasure.’ Only his body showed him that he still had limits; only the marks on his skin reminded him that he continued to be mortal.

It was strange, but he found that those who came to him weren’t as rough as they had been in the past. When he concentrated on them and only them, their actions weren’t as violent and forceful. It was often that he tried it, just to save his pallid skin from those colorful contusions, but it didn’t always work. Only when he had a full grasp on his mind would it take effect. Emotions played a role, too, but he couldn’t quite figure out what they contributed. Once, when he had become particularly angry and frustrated because the one who had promised him a paradise hadn’t returned, the one above him had frozen completely. Not a single muscle moved.

Gradually, that frustration spiraled into a burning hate. The bizarre happenings during his customers’ visits would increase. They would stop in mid-action—suddenly halt with no reason to do so—and remain that way until his fierce rush of emotion ebbed. He had been so foolish. True, he had been younger then, but he had still been foolish. His rage flared up to a dangerous level. When one of the overseers came in to check on him, his client was found on the cold, hard floor, dead.

During his break one particular day—or was it night?—he felt something ill at work. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly, but he knew well enough that something was wrong. It was a feeling in the air, a presence somewhere that possessed such malice that it made him shiver. Is that him? he wondered, a faint spark of anticipation igniting in his chest. No, no it can’t be… This is different. This is cruel. He was gentle and this is vicious. Screaming followed. The other young adolescents his age darted out and ran past the overseers in waves; even the customers began to flee, knocking past anyone who got in their way. A great roar shook the ground, and bright light spilled in from outside. His heart fluttering in panic, the golden-eyed boy started to run, too. The human instinct buried deep inside of him told him to escape. Turmoil and chaos wracked the entire city—it was every man for himself.

Outside the dark, desolate building that he was kept in, everything was being demolished. Engulfed in a blinding light that gave off so much energy that it seemed as though it could rip a planet apart, buildings, people, and anything else was instantly annihilated. He stared in sheer horror as it crept toward him. The deafening shouts of the citizens around him filled his ears and the quaking of the ground sent rumbles throughout his body; he could barely keep himself standing. The light swept over everything and absolutely nothing was left untouched. Was this paradise?

No, a voice inside of him protested. I don’t want to die. All of these humans are dying. I don’t want to join them. You can’t make me.

The empty, white brightness drew closer with every second. His body tensed with fear; all he could do was stare.

You can’t make me go with them to hell. Do you hear me? Do you understand? YOU CAN’T MAKE ME.

Silence. He awoke to dead silence. Opening his eyes, he found that he was sitting in the sand amongst heaps and heaps of rubble. The city around him had been completely destroyed and the light that was responsible for the deed had dissipated a long while ago. One question and one question alone lingered in his mind as he scanned his surroundings: Why am I still alive?

Then, footsteps. Slow and purposeful footsteps, boots that crunched against grains of sand, pieces of stone, and shards of glass. A man approached, tall, sturdy, and unharmed. The feeling of a malevolent presence instantly returned. The boy froze, gazing straight at the man who was advancing. His hair was blond, a soft, ashen, pale blond, and from what he could see, his eyes were blue.

It wasn’t long at all before he was spotted. With a countenance of perplexity and disgust, the man towered over him with a demanding aura. “Hm. Strange. I never meant for anyone to survive.” A satisfied smirk curled his lips, and his arm twisted; white featherlike limbs sprouted from it and extended outward, a few of them forming the shapes of blades. It happened so fast that the youth had forgotten to breathe. Seeing the rays from the scarlet sunset gleam along the flesh-knives’ surface made him concentrate everything he could possibly muster toward this superior being. All of his loathing for that one man’s promised paradise, all of his resentment for the people who visited him time and time again, and all of his antipathy for this place. Every raw emotion he had was focused toward his assailant.

And the man lunged.

With a blade just an inch from his pale throat, the boy pleaded, “Please. At your side… Please, I only wish that you would permit me to remain at your side.” Let me leave here. Please, let me leave this damn place. I hate it here. Let me come with you. I want to forget it all. Can’t you see what it’s done to me? He stared into the man’s blue eyes, which were an icy, heartless shade of sapphire, not the tender steel that he had wanted to see. Just by watching the expression on his thin face, he knew that his attacker was taken aback. Then, slowly, he let his concentration relax. His emotions receded and his mental grip on the man’s body released. In a heartbeat, the cold blade pressed against his throat; he could feel his skin gradually being parted by its edge. A small rivulet of blood trickled down his neck. He didn’t dare to swallow or to breathe.

Before he knew it, the blade was gone.

“Human, what is your name?” He said it brusquely, as if he expected an immediate response. Softly, the youth confessed the he had not a name to be addressed by. The man seemed to have found that peculiar, for his brows knit in thought. “Then… I’ll give you one. Something whimsical, but also strong.” He was silent for a few moments as his eyes glanced around the wreckage that encompassed them both. His arm had reverted back to its original state, which made the aurum-eyed boy sigh in relief. “… Legato. Legato Bluesummers. That will be your name. You will serve me and carry out my bidding. You will adhere to me and help me create an army of ‘knives’—sharp, reliable knives that will obey and kill without hesitance. You will aid me in tracking down and obtaining my little brother. Do you understand me?”

Silence. The youth’s jaw quivered. He was going to escape from this place. He was finally going to leave. You lied, he told the man with steel blue eyes, the one who was watching him from the recesses his mind. You lied to me, you filthy creature. You told me that you’d take me to a paradise. You lied. I don’t like liars.

“Do you understand me?”

“Y—Yes,” Legato breathed, “yes, of course… Master.”

He was never gentle. Bruises, bleeding lips, and constant demands were all twisted together in a bouquet of razor blades. Still, it was never as bad as it had been back in that place. There, everything had been hell. But here, in this place, the pain was better. The blood was better. The voice, the body—the ‘kindness’ was better. At least here he had a purpose. At least here he had a name.

“Legato.” He was being summoned; he could hear it in his head as clear as if the blond-haired Plant were right beside him.

Rising from his chair, the servant stood, and then began traverse the ship to answer his Master’s call. Recently, it had been nothing but pandemonium for him and the other Gung-Ho Guns ever since his Master’s brother had been spotted. But with nails scraping along his skin, teeth biting at his neck, and abuse being granted to him to make him forget and remember everything all at once, it was a sweet, sweet pandemonium that had him utterly ensnared. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. As long as he was by Knives’s side, he would be content.

I am free because of you. I woke from that nightmare because of you. I’m alive for you because of you… I’m finally awake.

“Yes. I hear you, Master.” A gentle smile, mimicked from a buried memory that he would have rather forgotten. “I’m coming.”