What Next?

BY : Foogle
Category: Misc Books > AU
Dragon prints: 1993
Disclaimer: I neither own nor make any money from the Skulduggery Pleasant franchise.

A/N: Criticism, corrections and reviews especially welcome. If you haven't read the Skulduggery Pleasant books, I'd recommend them; they're a bit like The Dresden Files but for a younger audience. People who haven't read them will get major spoilers from this fic, as well as missing out on valuable context and characters. Speaking of which, I need suggestions for Darquesse's victims partners in the next chapters. On with the show, then!

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Darquesse grinned and looked up at the stars. It’s not every day you take control of your own body, after all.

She was lying down; a purely habitual action. The bloodbath at Roarhaven hadn’t even slowed her down. Hundreds? Thousands? Darquesse couldn’t remember how many she killed. She would have lost count if she’d tried. The life she’d saved burned far more brightly in her mind.

China. So dark, so beautiful. She was dying, roasting herself from the inside out when Darquesse had burst in and saved her, extinguished the flames, repaired that burnt, ruined flesh. In doing so, however, the flames had destroyed the outfit Darquesse was wearing, the one Valkyrie took from that Bride of Blood Tears, the one she was wearing when Darquesse took over. Pity. She thought she’d looked rather fetching in that.

Still, she’d at least had the decency to cover herself in a suit of shadow, skin-tight and just as supple. Killing people in the nude was an interesting prospect, however.

She allowed herself a grin. She’d saved the world from both the Warlocks and Ravel, but did anybody thank her? Not even a religion dedicated to her? Saving the world was truly a thankless task. She had no idea why Valkyrie even bothered.

I’m still here, whispered a tiny, weak voice deep in Darquesse’s head. The grin turned immediately to a frown. She was still in there? Darquesse was under the impression that her head was completely her own now. Apparently not.

Is this me, or other me? Darquesse thought to the voice.

I swear to God, when I get my body back I’m going to-

Swear to God? Oh dear, Valkyrie, don’t swear by me.

You’ll... never be God...

The voice sounded a lot weaker now. Apparently even thinking took a lot out of Valkyrie. The grin returned with a vengeance.

Not yet, indeed. But I’m a close second. Most people would consider it an honour for their body to be possessed by a god. Batu certainly did, and you’re better off than he is.

Valkyrie didn’t respond. Good. Darquesse had better things to do than stage conversations with herself. First sign of madness, after all.

A cool breeze roused her from her thoughts. The trees were shedding their leaves, and one landed in her hair. Darquesse vaporised it with a vague whim and sprang up. What to do now? What do gods do?

Well, a god she was, and also a girl. An eighteen year old girl. One with needs.

It was then her body began to ache.

Darquesse almost laughed. Thousands of mages and Warlocks she had slain, and her own body was causing her more concern. Speaking of which, what was this feeling? This ache. She quickly flicked through Valkyrie’s memories, catching a hint of it here and there. Looking closer, she saw the feelings corresponded most strongly when she first met China, and was around Caelan and Fletcher when they were dating. Darquesse couldn’t put it together, until in a flash of realisation...

She was horny.

She laughed. The incongruity of this after the night’s work of mayhem and slaughter was terrific, it truly was. Such is the way, she supposed.

She let her shadow suit evaporate, the darkness drifting from her body into the night sky. She looked down at herself, admiring the small, firm breasts, the cute pink nipples, the strong arms, the muscled stomach, the long, muscular legs... dear God, she loved herself. With practiced ease, her right hand dipped downwards, the cold fingertips brushing her belly, making her shiver. Her fingers slipped through the downy pubic hair and reached her clit, realising she was already wet. The touch sent lightning bolts through her.

Darquesse chuckled again. In one night, she was guilty of mass murder, torture, maiming and now public masturbation.

Her hand went further down, allowing her fingers to get inside. One finger was easy. Two fingers were far better, stretching herself out further and allowing more friction. Slowly, she began pumping the fingers in and out. Her heart’s frantic rhythm rang in her ears, and her eyes rolled back as her other hand subconsciously kneaded her breast. Every exhalation was mist. Every inhalation was freezing, but Darquesse didn’t mind a little cold, as she slowly increased the intensity of her frigging, moaning harder and harder as her fingers probed and the dull throb intensified.

She wondered what would happen if a cop found her here, naked and jilling off in a park. Would she seduce him? Would he make her kneel down and suck his cock? Would he come all over her? Would she get fucked?

That really stoked her fires. Seconds later, after continuously slamming herself with three fingers, she came forcefully. Her toes curled as her legs spasmed, and she lost control and had to stick her fingers in her mouth to keep from screaming.

Coming down from her high, her muscles relaxed. She licked the juices from her fingers and let go of the nipple she’d unconsciously been gripping between thumb and forefinger.

She purred contentedly as she allowed the shadow to drift back onto her skin, draping itself over her nubile form. The ache was still there, but it seemed more distant. It was a pity Valkyrie didn’t see what she’d done.

A small smile blossomed on her face. “Such a pretty face,” she murmured to herself. Then she began to think.

What do gods do?

What next?



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