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Xolotl, the god of fire, lightning, deformities and death. Twin of Quetzalcoatl.
For just one second the other pushes through in desperate attempt and his head hits the glass of the mirror shattering it in the most spectacular circular pattern, like the rays of the moon on the trees, and he cackles, cackles to see his reflection in the mirror despite the face he wears in front of it.
“How’s Annie? How’s Annie? How’s Annie?”
Inside he feels the other clawing, desperately, pushed back down, more firm than ever. He’s a fighter, but it isn’t hard to contain. The best ones are the always the ones that try the hardest, that claw like they’ve been buried alive, trying to break through but the airways always clog with dirt. He loves the feel, like knives digging at his insides from within, like swallowing a wild animal live. It tears deliciously and the more the other fights, the worse it is for the other. The pain and suffering grow and grow, building up until it wells within him and he feels the power high, sated and satisfied.
It's always like that with a new one at first, but this one, he knows, will fight and fight until he’s worn down utterly, depleted of his willpower. It never lasts, but maybe, he hopes, smiling, all his teeth visible, this one will last for a while.
The other’s shadow personality will take hold soon enough, but he lets himself revel in his total reign for as long as it lasts. Like any good symbiote, he has no desire to totally blot out the shadow self. It’s safer to tag along for the ride, easier to blend it, easier for the ride to last, and longer too, when the shadow personality surfaces in full.
It’s always different, something fun to pass the time while he internally torments the other with intrusive thoughts and taunts and sick imaginings. Too much fun. He’s having too much fun. But it won’t last, and with a body as dangerous as the one he’s longed for forever the son of the mother is as good as the mother it’s better that way.
He lies down on the ground when the banging inside in joined by a banging on the door. Pretends, badly, to be the man they believe him to be, but they eat it up anyways. It struck me as funny, Harry. Submerging himself even a little bit has let the shadow out, and he takes stock of the shadow as he goes about the motions. But I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.
Yes, this shadow is cold and calculating, not wild and without inhibition like the previous one, all emotion and vigor. This shadow is absolutely deadly and moves with the nature of a panther, slow, stealthy, and vicious like the bite of frosted steel. This shadow is different than the last, but exactly what he needs in so dangerous a body. A personality that can keep them alive and sated for many, many years. A personality that can branch out and cultivate. A shadow that has some creativity along with the tactical acumen.
Not his usual style, not what he had hoped for, but nothing he was going to regret the mother would have been a sweet morsel just like the daughter, but the son would do far better than the father. This was a long term investment and he wasn’t going to make any mistakes. A gentle nudge towards it, a suggestion to cultivate, and to preserve.
They took him to the hospital and while he whiled the moments away learning the new personality, while the new personality worked to adjust, to mimic, to double, they overheard a interesting piecemeal of information. Cultivate. Nurture.
A quick trip to the lovely little brunette’s hospital room was enough to gather quite the crop from the other, screaming inside, clawing and tearing and crying, and desperate. And while he relished in the other’s garmonbozia, the shadow maintained the same emotionlessness throughout. Remorseless, with dead, black eyes. And he took the time to taunt the other look what you are look what’s within you what you’ve let free this is part of you this is what you are and the more he taunted the more the other fought; the stronger he became, and the shadow with him, the weaker the other grew.
He left the room with his strength rolling off of him in oily black waves. The Sherriff spoke of the Major and he prompted the shadow again.
Preserve.
Another quick trip the pesky intruders house, and then, tailing him to the listening post. A quiet flame, burning with intensity rather than running wild – a moment later, the place was in flames. The danger silenced. The first steps taken to preserve. More anguish and despair generated. The other was growing weaker, and soon his connection with them would sever and the garmonbozia would all have to be collected externally.
The shadow, all the most ruthless parts of the other compressed into one, decided on a destination, decided on a future, on a goal and they coasted away down the road to wider pastures. Within, he milked the last of the other with reminders of the day’s events, with teasing hints at what was to come. At the state line, the limit hit and the connection was severed, the other lost to the lodge.
The heady first run fun over, he settled back in, carving out a special, deep spot in his favoured host. It would take a lot to remove him this time. He was going to have such fun, as much fun as he could for as long as he was able. The new personality was nearly entrenched, and by the time they hit the truck stop, fulling in control.
“Whatcha need sugar?” The waitress at the truck stop asked.
“I don’t need anything. I want,”