Guardian of the Abyss

by Shannon Phoenix

  Standing statue-still, he waited beside a hole he knew was occupied by some sort of fish. When it finally grew complacent and emerged, he grasped it. It struggled, but he ignored it entirely, walking back to the hole under his lair. With a mighty heave, he threw himself up out of the water, massive legs flexing as he jumped.

  Landing inside, he found the woman still lying still. He dropped the flopping, struggling fish in the back of the cavern so it couldn't fall back into the water. Then, his emotions whirling and bringing him increasing discomfort, he turned back into his stone form to conserve the energy he had acquired. With any luck, he would have enough to get through the night warming the human, and have enough to only have to spend an hour or so outside the next time. Usually he could go for several light times in a row without needing to sit out; the human woman's needs were going to accelerate his stone form's aging.

  The thought rose that he didn't need to do any of this. He could let her expire. But the idea horrified him so much he nearly burst out of stone form.

  Vision eternally open whether he willed it or not in stone form, he sat and stared at her as she slowly sat up and looked around. She saw the flapping fish and jumped on it. A strange feeling surged inside Abaddon, one he hadn't felt in so long that he could no longer recognize it... amusement. He didn’t know what it was, but he did know it was pleasant, and he basked in it while he watched her antics with the fish.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah struggled to get the flapping fish held down. Finally, she realized she could take care of the problem with one of the many rocks around the area. Spotting a likely looking candidate despite the gathering blackness, she grabbed it and slammed it down on the poor thing's head. It bled, but didn't seem to notice the blow except to become even more agitated.

  Her heart ached and she wished that it didn't have to be 'me or the fish', but she knew it was. At last, the fish ceased its struggles, and she found herself crying as she held it. She felt terrible at inflicting such suffering on it; she was also so hungry that she could barely lift the rock.

  She tried to find a way--any way--to get at the flesh beyond the tough skin of the fish. Why did the only fish to flop up into her cavern have to be so tough? She even tried simply biting it and trying to tear it with her teeth. Unfortunately, nothing helped.

  At length, she grew frustrated and exhausted. She couldn't eat the fish because she had no way to remove its insides, and because she couldn't get past its skin. She searched her useless camera for some sort of sharp corner, but it had been well made... for photographing. Not so much for fish cutting.

  She gave up after a while, and turned her attention to the walls of the cavern. There was the lichen growing there. And one small pool of water in the back that appeared to fill at times, held a bit of seaweed.

  She used a dull rock--too dull for fish cutting--to separate some of the seaweed. Chewing it, she finally managed to get some of it down. It was small comfort, but it was something. She tried again with the fish, though she knew enough to know it was probably toxic by now as its insides bled toxins into its muscle tissue. Defeated, she dropped it back down into the ocean water, black and mysterious below her.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered to it as the fish sank beneath the still black surface.

  Then, with the unrelenting blackness broken only by a slight glow from the lichen, she laid back down. Her previous spot was now damp as all the cave was, so she curled up against the wall, somehow frightened now of the lump of stone that moved and beckoned to her almost as if it was alive and yearning.

  Staring at it, laboring to breathe, she thought that somehow it seemed almost as if the thing was watching her. It was an uneasy feeling, but not frightening. What frightened her was the knowledge that something here was affecting her thinking. Rocks didn't move.

  Again that night, she dreamed of golden wings and gentle warmth all around her. She slept peacefully until morning, when she woke from the cold and damp. Beside her on the floor was another fish, but this time, it was cleaned. She stared at it for a very, very long time before she picked it up and reluctantly ate what she could manage to rip off and choke down.

  She chanted to herself that she wasn't crazy. She shouted for the person who had left the fish to come out. She cried, she begged, she bargained. She threatened, she cajoled, and she railed. Was she the product of an experiment? If so, it wasn't legal, and she made sure to remind her captors of that. Though she was pretty sure anyone with enough money and power to set this up wasn't too concerned about that.

  Then the thought made her cry. They had killed James in order to get to her and take her prisoner. It wasn't right. Now they were trying to make her go crazy.

  When she awoke to find the stone moved again, and this time an offering of kelp on the floor, she wasn't entirely sure that she could hold out against the creeping terror. In the meantime, her lungs were burning, and breathing was a constant struggle. She became certain that she was hallucinating when the stone moved yet again.

  Food was delivered during the next night, and she woke curled up in a warm, dry spot on the floor. This time, the food had been cooked.

  She was just feeling remarkably comforted by that when she realized something that utterly and completely destroyed her peace of mind.

  The stone was gone.

  She screamed. It wasn't her typical way. She didn’t scream, ever. This time, though, it seemed to be entirely out of her control. She felt high, as if she were on a bad trip--and the trip had just taken a turn for the worse. Stones didn't move around, and they certainly didn't disappear!

  Heart pounding, she labored to breathe, the air thick and yet oddly thin. She stared into the water, no longer black as light showed through it from the other side. She remembered vaguely that there was a good reason she couldn't go into that water, but she couldn't manage to recall what it was right then.

  Light beckoned from beyond it, and the longing to go to that light increased with every second.

  As she stared, she imagined the light coming towards her. Golden, it sheered through the water until the water erupted violently towards her. Shrieking, she fell backwards as a massive golden form exploded out of the water and onto the shelf of the cavern.

  Then all thought fled her mind as she stared at the golden man in front of her. He was impossible. Massive muscle covered every inch of him as he looked into the cave, his skin glowing slightly. He looked like a body builder. Not a lean body builder, either... one clearly obsessed with putting on as much bulk as humanly possible.

  Then the bald head swiveled towards her, and she got it. She really, truly got it.

  He had more muscle than humanly possible because he wasn't human.

  Gasping, she caught her heart before it could escape, clasping her hand over her chest. "Gargoyle!" she accused.

  Its--his--eyes narrowed. Then he took a step backwards, clapping a hand to his chest the same way she was doing. "Humanus!" he accused in return, his voice mimicking her tone with surprising accuracy, his eyes wide in an exaggerated look of terror.

  What might have been a look of hurt crossed his face before he stomped over to the hole and dropped back out again with a splash without looking at her again.

  Trembling, Sarah lay on the floor of the cave and tried to catch her breath. Dimly, she feared that there wasn't enough oxygen in the air. Or, conversely, too much. Compressed oxygen was toxic to humans. Fear and despair struck her. Was she trapped below the surface of the ocean with a gargoyle and the strong possibility of toxic air?

  She was convinced that there was a strong likelihood that she was dying. The worst question, though, was what would the gargoyle do to her before she died? She strongly considered jumping into the water. Somehow, despite her befuddlement, she knew it would end her life. It no longer looked inviting, but rather looked sinister as darkness began to creep in from the other side. She didn’t want to die.

  'Fear is the mind-killer', she had always heard. Now she understood, because sh
e did feel like it was killing her, along with the hunger and the lack of air--or the poor air.

  She was also torn by what had just happened. She was caring, though not gentle by nature, and what she had just done had offended and hurt the gargoyle. Yet she couldn't help it. She had been raised Catholic, and although she had never been devout and didn't really believe, she couldn't break the programming that told her that these creatures had to be fallen angels. Demons. Beasts.

  She had been appalled at the slaughter against them, but some part of her had always thought it was more than possible that they really were demons. Now she was trapped with one that could pulverize her bones with a mere look, no doubt.

  It was in that moment that she came to the only conclusion that made sense to her. Here there was no sunlight. There was water she could never go into, which for her was a horrific punishment. There was only fish and kelp to eat. She was sick and breathing was nearly impossible. Life had become suffering.

  She had at first thought that it was because someone had knocked her unconscious and was using her as an experiment, but now, she felt, she really got it. The presence of the gargoyle confirmed her worst possible fear and the beliefs that had been hammered into her since her childhood. She'd had sex out of wedlock. She'd left the church. She didn't believe.

  Now she was in hell with a demon to torment her. Because surely this could be nothing but hell. No fire for her... no. Hell for her was being locked away from the outdoors forever, her lungs burning with agony, and water she could never go into. No wonder there was no way out of here. It was hell, literally.

  She stared at the hulking stone form of the gargoyle as he returned and immediately went back to his stone form. Indistinct, it was nearly unrecognizable... though it had been nearly impossible to take as a natural formation, it was even harder to recognize as an actual living gargoyle's stone form. It looked like it had melted or been in an explosion.

  Pity swelled in her. From what little she understood, gargoyles spent most of their time in their stone form. What must it be like to have such a terribly ugly stone form?

  Staring at the water, she wondered if she was his punishment as much as he was hers. Poor fellow if that was true. On the other hand, it could have been a lot worse. It could have been a lot worse for her, too, she supposed.

  So far he hadn't raped her that she knew of. Maybe he wanted her conscious for that, though. She looked at him again. He sat silent and still in his stone form and nothing displayed any reaction at all to her presence.

  It seemed that if he was going to rape her, it wouldn't be anytime soon. She settled on the floor to wait. Soon, the shivering began. God knew that she hated the cold far more than the heat, apparently. Great wracking shudders passed through her body and she curled up against the damp stone wall of the cave. Moments later, she felt herself lifted. She struggled against the stone arms around her, but the demon just shushed her, pulling her closer.

  Too tired to fight long, she gave up. He sat down, leaning against the wall of the cavern. Then she was surrounded by golden wings that began to glow slightly. Warmth seeped into her from his body and his wings. She was cocooned inside a warm shell, and slowly the warmness brought relaxation, and with the relaxation, came lethargy.

  It seemed this demon wasn't very good at torture. Didn't he know he was supposed to let her suffer for her sins? Instead, there she was, curled up in his arms, warm and dry.

  He leaned his head back against the stone and closed his eyes. She shifted position and found her cheek brushing against his chest. Against her will, she noticed the astounding softness of his skin. It was like expensive suede; softer than human skin. Unaware that she was doing so, she brushed her cheek against that soft skin again. Then again. It was so soft and it smelled of sun-warmed ocean rocks like those she had laid on at the beach as a child.

  Her mind too far gone to the nitrogen narcosis, Sarah rubbed against the gargoyle like a cat.

  Chapter 4

  Abaddon stilled when the woman began to rub against him like those small domestic creatures humans always kept as pets. He couldn't remember what they were called just then, but they made pleasant sounds not unlike those the woman was making. He liked those better than the loud companions the humans had kept.

  He knew the woman was out of her mind. He didn't remember a whole lot about humans, but he did understand well enough that she was acting impaired in some way. She didn't know what she was doing. He couldn't bring himself to stop her, though, so he sat as still as his stone form and simply let himself experience what she was doing. Alternately, she would rub on him and then stop to take deep breaths against his skin, sniffing him.

  The heat from the exhaled breath made him want more, while the rubbing brought up strange emotions that he couldn't name, but wanted to hold onto.

  After a while, she seemed to get tired of the sniffing and nuzzling. She grew still for a protracted moment, until her hand reached out and touched his bicep. The touch was light, the merest flutter as of the tiny fish that sometimes slipped past him, a fin touching on the way.

  He had no problem identifying his response to that touch. It was entirely different from when fish fluttered past him, and he had never forgotten that particular feeling. He stayed still, wincing with a level of embarrassment that he hadn't realized he could still feel as his penis swelled beneath her. Arousal darkened the moment and he felt embarrassed.

  She stilled and her hand retreated. He felt her tension and fury at himself swirled through him. She was afraid again. There was nothing he could do, though. He didn't really have control over that part of himself, and it had been so long since he had bothered to put the appearance of coverings on his body that he would need to take time to focus on doing it. He hadn't had any warning that she was going to rub all over him like... like a cat, he remembered belatedly.

  She was stock still for a while before slowly climbing off of him and sitting on the far wall away from him. He felt his embarrassment deepen to humiliation. Reminded of a time so long ago that only the primal, torturous nature of it kept it alive in the dimmest recesses of his mind, he concentrated until he formed the loincloth that had been given him by his makers. Because it was fashioned of his own skin, he was able to draw it across in front of his penis and pull it in snug against him. He doubted she wanted to see it jutting out when he stood to go outside. That she was afraid of him because of it hurt him.

  So he scowled and stomped out of the lair, jumping down into the water not caring if it splashed her or not. Here he was, using up all of his precious energy to warm her. He was using his resources and wasting his time to catch her food and cook it for her. And what was her response? She treated him like some sort of monstrous fiend.

  He knew what 'demon' meant. Apparently 'deamonium' had not changed very much in the time he'd been in this trap. She'd called him one, which didn't surprise him. After all, the sorcerers who had betrayed and then created him in order to force him to protect their monasteries and other religious institutions, had ensured that everyone would be petrified of him and his offspring.

  Being unsurprised by it, and knowing it was certain to have been the way that she was indoctrinated from the beginning, didn't make it hurt any less. Strangely, he remembered his life before being made into a gargoyle better than he remembered life since then. He'd always been frightening to women. A big man to begin with, he had never been handsome. Other men either feared him or sought him out in order to fight him. Women generally feared him or thought him stupid... the idea of a ham-handed giant being generally accepted as synonymous with a balatro--idiot or fool.

  He caught a fish and brought it inside the cavern. As he leaped out of the water, she gasped and scrambled backwards. This time, he recognized the anger that flared in him. Not bothering to moderate his tread, he stomped back to the hole she used for her eliminating--a disgusting process about which he did not complain, thank-you-very-much-for-noticing--and extended a nail into a claw. He decapitated and
cleaned the fish, dropping the viscera down the hole.

  When that was done, he stood up and took the fish in his hands. Reaching deep within himself, he called upon his sorcerer's abilities. He teased the molecules in the fish until they sped up. Soon the fish was heated and cooked through.

  He dropped it at her feet without looking at her and stomped the five paces across their tiny living quarters. There, his back deliberately turned towards her, he shifted with his gaze to the wall.

  * * * *

  The demon was having a temper tantrum. Sarah stared in awe. It was a wonder to behold. His heavy stomping literally shook the chamber they lived in. More than that, though, he was beautiful. Oh, not in the conventional way, certainly. Most men didn't have skin literally the color of gold, gleaming slightly with its own inner light.

  And for a human man to get muscle bound like that would take a dedication to his body that would exclude all else. Nor did human men run around in gold loincloths. He was bald and had no eyebrows. By all rights he should have looked ridiculous.

  He didn't. He looked masculine, primitive, and magnificent. With a formidable scowl on his face and muscles twitching in his jaw, he made her heart hammer with a mixture of fear and appreciation that defied her understanding.

  Sarah had always been one to flirt with death. She loved that adrenaline that came from free-diving. Dancing on the razor's edge between going home alive or in a body bag had always thrilled her.

  The demon set to see to her punishment was having the wrong effect. He was frightening without a doubt, but that made him that much more alluring to a woman addicted to adrenaline and the rush that came from surviving the terrifying.

  Although aside from the glowing, the black eyes, and the wings, the guy wasn't all that demonic. No wonder he got the crappy details like being stuck in a grotto out of sight, out of mind.