A/N: Any dialogue in Italics is spoken in Kryzion. Also, special thanks to Nyx, who indirectly pushed me to get this chapter written.

Chapter 3 – A Whole New World

His head was playing a set of drums like an obnoxious teenager, he was sure of it. Thump-de-thump-de-thumpthumpthump! Had he been smoking that fungus stuff again? Thomas was going to kill him. It must have been some good though, for it to be hurting everywhere.

An eye slid delicately open, watering at the painful light that seemed to be specifically aiming for his retina. "Bastards, turn off the damned lights!" he groaned, throwing a sleeved arm over his- Wait. Both eyes opened, peering at his arm. A sleeve. Christopher Avery did not wear sleeves.

Panic swelled deep in his gut, webbing outwards to the rest of his body. A flood of memories cascaded from the back corners of his mind, sweeping up his breath along with them. Night, shooting, fighting, Kryzions, capture, pain... He'd been captured!

Green eyes swept about. A room with open windows, silken curtains. Furs covering the floor. Incense burning on a small table in the corner. Wooden double doors, closed.

He glanced down at himself, inspecting the wispy material that had been secretly slipped over his cleaned body. A white robe with a gold trim, seeming to glow despite the lack of light. It was one entire piece of clothe, he noticed, that was held about his waist with a golden chain of some kind. His shoulders were bared by large circles that had been cut from the fabric, reflecting the large ovals that revealed his slender hips. He felt exposed.

The door swung open, opening the a stocky Kryzion woman with crimson hair. "Oh, good, you are awake. I thought Zoraanir had maybe killed you with his venom," she said, her accent rougher than other Kryzions Chris had met.

He blinked in disbelief. "Zoraanir? The General?" he asked, voice arching higher and higher as he spoke. The pounding in his head grew stronger, wrecking his vision with each pulse. Before he could stop it, his muscles began to relax, lowering him back to the mound of pillows he had been propped p with. It hurt so much.

"Yes. Your husband-to-be," she said, moving about the room beyond Christopher's limited vision.

Laughter flooded the room, interrupted by a pained grumble. "Oh, that's funny. But really, where am I? And who put you up to this?" Rising slowly out of the bed, Christopher cradled his head in his hands, praying for the damned pain to leave him be.

"I am Aydlaahmae. Ayd for short. And I assure you that nobody has put me up to anything." She came around to stand in front of him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. "You should be honoured, human. Only the most well-bred and desirable are married to people of his standing. Many would give up everything to be in your position."

Disgusted, Christopher batted her hand away from himself. "So I'm nothing but a trophy, then? A plaything to prove how weak humans are? I didn't agree to this!"

Ayd stepped back, shaking her head profusely. "Oh no, not at all. You would have more social power than most of the lower and middle sects combined."

He'd had enough. Standing with not so stable legs, Christopher began to stumble towards the door with every intent of leaving. After several painful moments of getting to the door, he found his way blocked by a hard, dark mass. A hard, dark and warm mass. As carefully as he could, Christopher tilted his head back, groggily searching for something even remotely familiar. There was a chest, a pair of collarbones, a thick neck, an angular jaw, a face.

Shrieking, Christopher back-peddled, stumbling over his own feet. "Y-You! Molesting thing! Get away from me!" he yelled, bumping back into the edge of the bed.

Zoraanir stood in the doorway, frowning in the most disapproving of ways. His bare chest jerked sharply with a snort. "Sit down and be quiet," he barked in Christopher's direction, moving into the room with an air of ownership. The way he moved reminded Christopher very much of a Gongtor – a winged reptile that resembled something of a dragon. It was almost like he were looking for something to tear apart.

Zoraanir turned to Ayd and began speaking to her in the Kryzion language, something Christopher was quite unversed in. It was full of guttural grunts, clicks and some noises Chris just didn't have words for. He took the chance to make a run for it. Throwing himself forward, Christopher hurtled for the door, almost running into the wall as a sickening wave of dizziness washed over his body. He came out onto a landing where the staircase led downstairs to the foyer, almost going over the railing as his balance shifted too far forward to stop. The more he moved, the more the world around him began to rock and shift beneath his feet. He had to get back to bunker!

Before he could move much further, a pair of ash grey arms lifted him up from the ground. "Let go! I swear by the gods, I will kill you!" Again, he found himself on the bed, head spinning sickeningly fast. Above him, Zoraanir growled low in his chest.

"You are lucky that you are not already dead, Viilaah. If I had this situation my way, you would have been beaten, questioned and disposed of." Leaning closer to Christopher's face to ensure the human could see him properly, Zoraanir snarled ever so slightly. "I do not take kindly to threats. Remember this next time you run from me."

Ayd coughed quietly in the background, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. "M'Lord, Master Raalohir has arrived. Shall I tell him you are preoccupied at the moment?" she said timidly, staring intently at the floor below her toes.

For a moment, Zoraanir said and did nothing. "No," he finally huffed, straightening himself and turning away from Christopher. "I'll meet him myself. Make sure my Viilaah does not leave this room until the ceremony," he grumbled, throwing a glance to Christopher before marching from the room.

As soon as the large male was out of earshot, Ayd began rambling in her native language, becoming flustered as she moved across the room to pick up a datapad that Christopher had not noticed. What had just transpired was making him feel confused and tired. Whatever that bastard had done to him had really knocked him on his ass, in a manner of speaking.

"What the fuck is a 'Viilaah'?" he asked, trying to fight back a yawn. Maybe he should go back to sleep, if the General wasn't going to gut him alive. It sounded like a good idea, even to his queasy stomach. Ayd all but ignored the human, her fingers running riot over the datapad screen.

Time passed faster than Chris had thought. One moment, he was contemplating passing out on the oh so soft bed. The next, he found himself being pulled out of a ground shuttle and woken up in the most unsympathetic way possible. The sunlight was a deep ruddy gold that spilled over the mountains in the distance. Looking about, he realised that once again, he had absolutely no idea where he was. Maybe it was Heaven, as the Old Christians would call it. Sweeping architecture could be seen for miles either side of him, white turned red in the light. Before him was a large dais that overlooked a valley that was unbelievably green. The view was ruined by a procession of Kryzions lining either side of the broad stairway that led up to the dais and what looked like a bad imitation of a roof garden crossed with a miniature ancient temple squat in the middle.

Ayd nudged him forward, muttering softly under her breath. She, like the others, wore a robe of simplistic beauty. It was crimson trimmed with gold, showing off his ankles, back and chest. It was walking past a rainbow army of giants.

The higher he got up the stairway, the queasier he felt. How much would it hurt to jump off of the dais and down into the valley below, he wondered. A lot, probably. At least the view on the way down would be nice.

More than a few times, Ayd had to give him a gentle push to keep him from stopping dead in his tracks. The only time he was allowed to stop was when they reached a small gathering before the structure. Zoraanir stood on one side, clad in a white clothe that only covered him from his hips to his knees. And like Christopher's robe, it was also trimmed in gold. Had it been anyone else, Christopher would be laughing at how much it reminded him of that one joke of why wives are married in white.

Next to Zoraanir was another Kryzion man, a little shorter and much lighter in colour. While he had the same black and gold eyes as Zoraanir, his hair was a bright violet. The only other in the small group was a short woman who was round in places that would make any man blush, Kryzion or otherwise. She was far more ornately dressed with a high neck brace that made a halo of feathers around her head and brightly coloured robes that pooled around her feet. A soft smile sat on her face the same way stagnant water sits in a bog.

"I welcome you, Christopher Avery of Earth," she rumbled, her voice belying her small stature. "And you, Zoraanir of the First House of Saan," she continued, her smile becoming all the more sickening as she went. "You stand before the Vale of the First, home of our ancestor Mae and birthplace of the race now Kryzions." Her hand swept across the view beyond her form, tail swaying as gently as the breeze blew. Ayd translated as best she could for Christopher's sake.

Christopher's left eyebrow never left his hairline. He didn't even believe in the religious bullshit of his own damned planet, yet alone the one being preached at him now. If not for Ayd's hand on his shoulder, he would have made a dash for the edge of the dais by now. The woman's smile was enough to make him shudder with disgust.

"As Mae's spirit be witness, and those who have gathered, I would bind these wayward souls not as one to the other, but as one half to the whole," the Priestess all but sang, her arms flying upwards to dance spasmodically. The other Kryzions who had lined the stairway now moved closer, forming a large circle around them and the small temple behind, chanting.

Zoraanir sank to his knees, shortly followed by Christopher after a rough coaxing by Ayd. From somewhere in her robes, the priestess produced a flask and a wooden bowl. With surprisingly little ceremony, she poured the contents of the flask into the bowl before handing it to Zoraanir. The General took a large swig, wrinkling his nose as he did so before in turn passing it to Christopher.

Looking at the murky liquid, Christopher felt a fresh wave of nausea rise from the depths of his gut. It smelled like a crustacean's burial ground and sloshed about worse still. Shaking his head, he tried to give it back to the priestess, who simply stared at him expectantly. Next he tried Zoraanir, who frowned darkly at the gesture.

It was Ayd who saved him. "Drink," she whispered down to him, coughing softly. But he didn't want to. He was sure it was going to make him even more sick than he was. It could be poison designed specifically for humans, for all he knew about it.

After much internal debate, Christopher finally brought it to his lips and poured it down his throat as fast as he could for fear that he may actually have to taste the foul stuff. It was only after he swallowed the majority of it that he was blown away by the vile taste, causing him to choke on the last mouthful. The priestess snatched the bowl away, as if fearing Christopher could break it while Zoraanir thumped Christopher between the shoulder blades. Christopher wasn't entirely sure it was to congratulate him on surviving the ordeal or just to pound him with the excuse of making sure he didn't drown.

No sooner had he finished coughing, a strange sensation began to creep through his body. It started at his spine and almost languidly made it's way from there. It must have been some pre-wedding drug.

"And now step forth, Children and seal the bond for all eternity," the priestess leered, stepping aside. Ayd didn't need to translate as Zoraanir dragged Christopher to his feet and forward into what had to have been the tiniest temple Christopher had ever seen.

They stepped through two black marble pillars into a room that held a single piece of furniture. It was a bed sunken into the floor, partially hidden from view by wispy curtains hung around it. Incense drifted lazily in clouds of smoke, adding to the rapidly spreading sensation from the strange liquid. There, the chanting was but a low drone in the back of the mind, as if the air itself buzzed with religious crap.

With gentleness that was very out of character, Zoraanir led Christopher between the curtains and down onto the softness of the bed. There, he once again sunk to his knees, bringing a hazy human with him.

"Lay," he murmured, gesturing to the softness. Christopher, however, had other plans entirely. His head swayed and his body was tingling in ways it shouldn't be, but he was not blind to what was going on. Pulling away, he shook his head.

"No, no, I see what's going on here! I'm not consummating this. I can barely walk as it is," he protested, struggling to get his arm out of the Kryzion's tightening grip. It just wouldn't work. Christopher had no interest in being married to an alien, yet alone one with so much power. And he certainly was not interested in needing assistance with walking for the next week.

"Fine, I will then," Zoraanir grunted, flopping onto his back. Christopher was tugged down along with him, landing on the Kryzion's chest with a dull thud. Even just touching the man's chest, Christopher could almost hear Zoraanir's powerful heart beating. Thump. Thump. Thump. For a moment, he heard and felt nothing but that rhythm. What broke his concentration was the sensation of two large, warm hands resting lower down than he was comfortable with.

"Hey! You don't get to touch me there!" he exclaimed, latching onto Zoraanir's wrists to try and shove them away. "See, there's this thing we humans call rape, you bastard!"

The General growled, rolling them both over so that their roles were reversed. "I do not care what humans do on their wedding nights and I do not care whether you agree to this or not," he rumbled, lowering his voice so that only Christopher could hear him. "You will stop talking and you will do what I tell you to do." His nostrils flared, releasing a sigh of frustration.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? You're not my boss, or my god or anything like that! How dare you tell me what I will and won't do!" yelled Christopher, all but spitting in anger. As his breathing sped up up, so did the tingling under his skin, teasing his nerve endings in ways that it shouldn't.

Zoraanir's hand latched onto Christopher's jaw, holding it in a painfully tight grip. His hand was almost as big as Christopher's head. "I am your husband. Neither of us are getting out of this until we... What was the word you used? Consummate." His golden irises stood starkly against his dark scleras, something Christopher had a hard time staring down.

Both were quiet for several moments, gazing at each other in a battle of will. Christopher was the first look away. Zoraanir's grip loosened. "We just have to... do that and then we're done? Nothing else?" Christopher asked, chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

Dipping his head once, Zoraanir said "Once is enough."

Sighing in defeat, Christopher nodded slowly. "Ok... Ok, fine. But this means nothing and you're still a bastard, got that?"

That was all the General needed. His mouth attached itself to Christopher's skin, roughly sucking and nipping its way from his face to the hollow of his throat. Large hands moved with a surprising deftness, undoing the small clasp on the chain that held Christopher's robe together.

Christopher had difficulty keeping his mouth closed, needing gasps of air to continue to fuel his increasingly fast heartbeat. Now he understood what that vile stuff was for. It was a liquid aphrodisiac. And it was making his exposed skin feel sensitive.

As his mouth began to explore Christopher's chest, Zoraanir tugged off his waist-clothe, throwing it to the side in annoyance. Beneath, he wore nothing but the skin he was born in. Christopher took a glance, gulping at what he saw. He didn't want to look again. It was too damned scary. There was no way that thing was going anywhere near his ass.

"Stop! Stop, I can't do it! You'll either crush me to death or tear me to shreds," he protested, bringing both hands up to push the much larger male away. Except, Zoraanir wasn't backing off. Instead, the General cupped his hands under Christopher's knees and pushed them up towards his chest.

"Shh," Zoraanir cooed, positioning himself. Christopher squirmed and clawed at the Kryzion's hands, trying to get away. And then Zoraanir thrust forward, his sigh drowned out by Christopher's cry of pain.

"You fucking asshole alien scumbag piece of sh-" he swore, cutting himself off with both hands. He couldn't even breathe properly, it was just too painful. It got worse as Zoraanir began thrusting, in, out, in, out. He could feel himself tear, feel the blood oozing out onto the bedding beneath them.

It seem to go on for hours, though in truth, it had only been a few minutes. Somewhere, from deep inside the pain, a flooding rush of pleasure shot out and blew Christopher away. He came with such an intensity that his body began to spasm violently, his fingers digging painfully into anything he could get a hold of.

Above, Zoraanir grunted lowly, his own hips jerking with spasmodic release. Rivulets of dark liquid spiralled over his skin, dripping down onto a sweaty and flushed Christopher. It was only when the smaller man smeared his fingers with it that he realised that the General was bleeding.

A look of horror ran across Christopher's face, his eyes swinging wildly between Zoraanir's perplexed face and his bloody fingers. "What the hell is this?" he all but shrieked, waving his hand in the Kryzion's face. "Why are you bleeding? I'mthe one who was just violated!"

Wrinkling his nose, Zoraanir grabbed Christopher's wrist and forced it back to the bedding. "Stupid human, do you not know anything? It is from-"

"Dy Errot, the Mark," interjected the priestess as she parted the curtains to allow herself down into the otherwise private bed. Christopher scrambled to cover himself, pain shooting up along his spine and back.

She moved to stand behind Zoraanir, peering closely at his back with a frown settling on her features. Along, clawed finger reached out and traced a line down it. The General choked, bearing his impressive canines in the first show of pain Christopher had seen from him.

"Impressive, General. Not only has your previous Mark completely faded, your new one has rooted rather deeply," she smirked, letting her hand fall away from Zoraanir's grey skin. "Now, the Viilaah's," the priestess said, crossing her hands behind her back.

Carefully pulling out of Christopher, Zoraanir slipped both hands under the smaller man's shoulders and sat back on his heels. Christopher wailed and clung to the arms supporting him as a fresh wave of pain cut across his back and pelvis.

"Quite precious, humans, aren't they?" the priestess chuckled, coming around to inspect the bloody trails smeared over Christopher's back. The basic patterns matched Zoraanir's, yet smaller, more delicate lines mirrored them. "Fascinating... I may need to take this up with the Sister's Conclave," she muttered, narrowing her eyes at the things she saw in the Mark.

Straightening her back, the priestess flickered her head with a sniff. "So it shall be, I accept this union in the eyes of Mae, twice born and joined."