Summary: The great hell lord Ioannes is banished from the Sixth Realm of the Underworld for forming a council and challenging the King’s authority. He is branded with the Haniaus Mark and now alone, wanders the wastelands of the Underworld searching for an apprentice to help him once again reclaim his right as a hell lord and rid the Realms of its evil ruler Gaulcherius.

This was inspired by Kira-kira, and Mouku & Yuki Ryu, my favorite online authors.

The Haniaus Mark by: red

Warning: this story is rated R-18 will contain graphical violence and BL (boy-love).

A/N: All characters and the story (plot) belong to red. When referring to the Underworld, I do not mean Hell. The Underworld is a world all to its own; people are born and die here and sometimes fall victim to their beliefs.

The First Mark .the beginning

To be banished is to live in an eternal nightmare.
Death is no punishment here.

Footsteps.

A terrain built on flames that never perish, never diminish. It was desolate save for the jagged stones and bare trees dotting the repetitive scenery, implanted deep in malnourished soil. The sky high above the land was forever burned a bloody red, and in the distance, an overwhelming pigment of purple. Clouds were nonexistent here. The sky was empty. The earth cowering below its majesty was a pitch black, and plain. The sun did not shine down on this place, or merely it did not dare to do so.

Crows swooped down from nowhere and perched upon delicate branches. The Crows(1) cawed. As long as anyone had remembered, the Crows were always there. Always waiting with that twinkle in their soulless eyes.

The air was still.

Tall slender men in dark extravagant dark robes glided silently through the dark earth in two rows of ten. Their faces were covered by an equally glamorous headdress with golden lustrous pieces, engraved with ancient scriptures. Horns struck through the headdress at each side. The cloth fell over their eyes and flapped down to their broad shoulders. In chains, another cloaked figure was led between the two rows, trudging along with heavy feet. The tiring walk had taken effect on his frail body. The man panted softly with perspiration dripping down his pale face although it was cool. He tasted the metallic taste of copper as his tongue flicked across his lips. The taste blinded his senses, momentarily calming his frantic mind and left his knees weak.

Suddenly as though struck with pain, the man groaned aloud and lunged forward in one motion. As quickly as he had fallen, he was violently pulled back up by the cursed chains wrung so crudely upon his neck and arms. No one glanced down at the prisoner and all of them continued to glide through the terrain, parrying the man’s subdued moans. The Crows cawed once. Twice. Three times. The chained man glanced briefly down at his bare feet, bleeding and sore to those of his robed “companions”, which were bandaged so tightly that they seemed to be disfigured, ankle twisted, trailing the earth, toes pointed down.

It was then he had noticed that no one had talked for the longest time.

In the distance, two rows of towering white columns stood in the black terrain; they reached for the bloody skies amongst brutal and unforgiving ruin.

As the men neared the columns, a vast courtyard stretched out before them and the chained one felt his bones tremble violently within his body. The robed men jabbed his ribs to urge him on, and he choked. He started walking again staring at the columns but then hung his head down, eyes never leaving the grossly luminescent floor, almost too afraid to look up.

The columns neared and stopped. They danced about, casting invisible shadows, and then everything was still again. At the fifth column, the robed men left the man to drag his chains himself. Left him to march forward, alone. They stood at the end of courtyard and as silently as They had arrived, They had left. Every bit of muscle tensed. Every breath caught in the throat. The man had no idea how long he had held his breath or perhaps if he had already fainted. The chains clinked slightly as he shifted from foot to foot. His knees finally gave way and he collapsed to the ground with a groan.

“How do you plea?” A voice thundered, nearly shaking the entire courtyard. The sky screamed.

“Not guilty,” the accused spat bitterly. The High Council remained restless.

“Silence, all of you!”

The men settled down.

“Did you perform forbidden rituals, knowing full well that violation of Law will result in severe consequences?”

Then he had looked up and wished he hadn’t.

Before him seated in a throne as dark as the earth itself, was the King with tanned to a gorgeous caramel colour with equally dark hair, and dark eyes that bore into the very depths of his soul. A single piece of jewelry was worn around his forehead: a green emerald that beamed by the light of the torches. Full lips twitched and formed a vicious smile that left the chained one feeling light-headed. Everything about him screamed out death. The man felt his body erupt into flames, divided and ripped apart by two giant arms. His entire face grew hot. He swallowed hard, adverting his eyes to the white columns.

“I do not deny it,” the chained one murmured after a moment’s pause. The King raised an eyebrow and scooted closer, eyes lurking.

“What were you planning?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Oh? Is that right, Sorcerer?” The words dripped off his tongue like sweet poison. The other trembled. The King placed a finger upon his lips and glanced up slightly, as though pondering something before he leaned forward once again. “Should I have rephrased the question to ‘What are you planning’?

“You’ve always hated us, bastard”, the chained one spat, pointing at the king with a slender finger. The chains weighed down his already sore arm. “You had no intentions to reward us for our efforts in time of war. We’re nothing but tools for you. How despicable. Just who the hell do you think you are, HUH?!”

The King’s smile disappeared. He waved those accusations away and glowered down at the vulnerable figure, kneeling down those steps before him.

“How dare you! Who am I?! I’m the King of the Realms! And therefore, I have absolute authority. What I say is Law,” he leered. “Don’t you dare change the subject. My soldiers have confirmed that you’re the head of a small council, and have become quite the expert in the Forbidden Arts, no? ”

“Don’t make me laugh! You’re undeserving of the title of King! You fucking killed the –”

“Let me ask you. Did you plan to overthrow my authority with your council of amateur sorcerers? Shall we bring them here too?”

Taken aback, the accused growled and spat. The King smiled bitterly. Two Guards lunged forward from the King’s sides and restrained him. Startled, he stared up at the Guards, colour draining from his face. Looking back down at his horrified face was that of a demon’s skeleton. Black lustrous armor clasped all sides with red ropes handing down the sides. Every part of the Guard was armor save for the evident skeleton claws that dug into his flesh. He quickly regained his composure. He was unhindered by his fresh scars, channeling his raw outrage at the King.

“Don’t you even think about bringing my apprentices into this! This conflict’s between us. You got that?! You want to punish someone, then fucking punish me, dammit! If you dare harm them at all, I’ll see to it that you suffer a slow and fucking painful death, given eternal damnation! I’ll kill you! Asshole! I’ll fucking kill you!” The king slouched back in his chair, beaming with satisfaction. He let out a chuckled which erupted into maniacal roars of laughter. The High Council tensed but remained still.

“How amusing for you to care so much for delinquents! Ah, then you do know what happens next!”

The priests to the sides eyed the judge silently. One man prepared to stand.

“Ioannes, High Advisor, Hell Lord and Sorcerer of the Sixth Realm(2), is condemned barbaric and a perpetrator of the Sacred Arts. By performing Forbidden rituals, calling upon unauthorized Assembly, and being a potential threat to the King and His Council, you are to be severely punished. Your council will be disbanded. No harm will come to them; however, as retaliation for their liberty, your very life will be-”

The King was abruptly cut off as a man from the sides abruptly stood up.

“Gaulcherius!”

“Don’t you dare interfere, Albal! I have no business with you! I have decided! My word is Law of the land! Don’t you ever forget it!”

The priest remained standing. He thrust his hand into the sleeve of his robes and retrieved a battered scroll, holding it high into the air.

“You know what to do. We made an agreement.”

The King remained silent then faced the restrained one between the two Guards.

“Ioannes, I, King Gaulcherius III, do hereby banish you from the Sixth Realm! One of such dirty lineage has no right to hold the high social status of the royalty. You are no longer one of us; you and your Descendents will never again have claim to this Land. You will be marked by the Hell Lords of the Sixth Realm as a Rebel, Outcast, Demon, scarred forever with the mark of Haniaus for all to Witness, for Eternity to be the reminder of the Sin to go against the King and his Law. Never shall you return or face eternal damnation!”

The Guards released the man called Ioannes and clawed at the dark coarse fabric of his cloak, revealing a head of white hair hacked short, and amongst the wild locks, two protruding red horns with golden scriptures scrawled upon them. Eyes of vibrant purple darted up. Reluctantly, his robes were thrown off, revealing his eerily pale back dotted with beads of cold sweat for all to see. The muscles in Ioannes’ body tensed as he was dragged by the arms before the King, prostrate. The chains rattled and caught between his legs, entangling his limbs in the uncomfortable position causing him to wince in discomfort. Such unimportant thoughts were quickly tossed aside. He growled and cursed, tail lashing out, feeling naked and exposed among the eyes of the Council and most of all, the King.

“It’s a pity you have such marvelous skin,” the King mumbled, leaning on one hand in his chair, eyes hungry for blood. “It will be tainted after this is over.”

“Don’t mock me!”

Four priests gathered behind the demon, and started to rub Ioannes’ back with oils. The scent flooded his senses and for a moment it was hard to swallow. He felt pressure on his shoulder blades and back, panicking as he was not able to move. A beam of red light burst forward from Ioannes’ hands. His violet orbs flashed with anger. The priests instinctively clasped their hands together and broke through the enchantment, shattering white light. Ioannes’ entire body screamed.

“Now, now, Ioannes dear. You shouldn’t do that when your body is so weak.”

“Shut… up!” Ioannes thrust his hands from under him and pushed up but the chains became a dreadful nuisance. He made a sign with one hand and choked out.

“Your spells cannot penetrate me. Let dark and light be my guidance. Let it slash out and devour your soul. Familiars of all descendents aid me. Pierce through the enemy…”

The Priests quickly stood back and screamed at one another, “How can he break the effect of the chains?”

“What is that spell?”

“Stop him!”

“Someone stop him! What are you doing?! Don’t let him finish that Enchantment!” The King’s voice rose above the confusion.

The same man from the Council to the side suddenly screamed out.

“Ioannes! Stop this! Don’t do this!”

Ioannes hesitated.

“…white mists enshroud me. The sky scream my name. All must perish!”

The Priests immediately backed up, and moved into formation around Ioannes. Chanting filled the entire courtyard.

Black light engulfed Ioannes, and then grew weaker as white light flashed, whirling about him. Winds pierced the priests, drowning their chants. White mist enshrouded the entire courtyard. The air was cold and wet.

Ioannes screamed loudly, coming back to life, back arching, eyes glowing white, fangs protruding. Lightening struck above. The Priests screamed in anguish, as the light struck them hard, cloaks and bodies ripped to threads, blood splattering everywhere and falling in drops, flesh turning as black as charcoal. The winds continued to encircle, then black light flashed, pulverizing a nearby column, leaving it ruins. The sky screamed. Voices echoed and thundered. The King watched on, flabbergasted, perspiration dripping down his face.

“Quickly Guards!”

The Guards scampered forward towards the light. Ioannes clenched on fist, pulled against his bonds. The Guards stopped moving and fell with a clank where they stood.

Two cloaked figures leapt forth and held up their hands up.

“Please forgive the One who dares to transgress the Sacred Arts. He is a lost soul. He has lost claim to his Land. Lost claim to his body, Heart and Mind. Shall he live through eternal damnation, guide him forth, and embrace him. Lost sorcerer of the Sixth Realm, forever deprived, will live with an eternal reminder.”

They had held candles in their hands and started to chant loudly of sins, of souls, of outcasts. Their voices reached Ioannes through the strong winds. The winds howled and diminished to a whisper. Ioannes thrashed about as he felt heat, and the sharp pain of something piercing his back. Ioannes’ growled and his horns grew more pronounced; it was evident that golden scriptures were glowing brilliantly. His wings, from under his flesh, burst out, tearing his flesh. They were bloody and strangely white.

Screams of pain echoed throughout the courtyard. The priests watched on in melancholy at the bloodshed of their former associates, while others stricken with anguish at the screams, cast their eyes away and held their heads in their arms. The sole priest remained standing and said nothing, holding the scroll tightly in his moist hands.

The ritual was finally finished and the priests returned where they had come. Ioannes collapsed upon the marble, his entire back bloody, wings beaten, the red liquid tainting the very place where he laid.

Gaulcherius stood slowly from his perch, gracefully descended down the stairs, his robes trailing behind him like a serpent, dark hair flying. He did not look at the other Priests, whose bodies were now unrecognizable. He kneeled before the fallen sorcerer.

Ioannes felt his head being lifted up by the chin and forced to look into the dark eyes of the King. He bit his lip hard, baring his fangs and blood oozed down slowly. The King smirked, leaned in and lapped the blood up with his long hot tongue.

“From the looks of it, you should be sentenced to death… but I am a merciful man,” his voice drew out huskily.

Blood pounded in the sorcerer’s ears and the words were left unheard. A thousand needles pierced Ioannes’ body, and blades slashed through his chest. He panted hard, his vision blurry. With his last breath, he spat out, “Mark my words, Gaulcherius, I will kill you even if it’s the last thing I’ll do!”

His consciousness left him and he was left stone cold on the ground. Everything was silent.

The King stood triumphant, glancing briefly down at the naked figure before eyeing two other Guards who came forth, kneeling.

“Why, doesn’t he have a sense of humor even in this state. Guards, dispose of him. Get him out of my sight.”

End of .the beginning
(1) Crows, giant beastly winged creatures, thrive in the wastelands of the underworld, coming only when an execution is near. They feast upon the souls of the forgotten dead and devour the body whole.

(2) There are six realms in the Underworld, each behaving as a balanced vessel for the whole of the underworld. The Sixth Realm belongs to that of the High Council and the King of the Underworld, Gaulcherius.

Please read and review!