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This story contains (some) strong language, and adult situations. If you are under 18, or are legally a minor in your place of residence, do not continue. This story also contains a transgender (TG) theme. If such offends you, or makes you uncomfortable, I highly recommend that you do not continue.

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Warrior-Witch Steve

By Travesty Underscore
travesty_@atoj.net

 

Chapter 1: Ghost in the Pink Room

Steve surveyed the room. His bedroom. His private sanctum. He allowed no one even one peek into his bedroom, for no one would have understood. The rest of his apartment was ordinary, drab even - surely, no one could ever suspect the secrets #204 Willow Creek Apartments held.

Pink. The colour was everywhere in the room, from the plush carpet to the linen, pillows, and canopy on the majestic four-poster bed. Even the walls were papered with fancy rosebud-patterned wallpaper, though the pattern was practically obscured by the shelves and posters that filled his room.

The four-poster dominated one wall; it's many layers of ethereal pink curtains drawn back to showcase the hundreds of stuffed animals piled atop many layers of deep, soft pink pillows. It appeared to be difficult to sleep upon, but Steve had always drawn a deep sense of security from stuffed animals. He had somehow even managed to keep two small teddy bears with him throughout Navy boot camp in San Diego all those years ago.

He felt completely at ease sleeping with this stuffed menagerie, especially now that his days were filled with an ever-increasing sense of unease. Over the past few months, this collection grew rapidly. He had taken to having a few displayed around the rest of his apartment to provide security throughout his downtown apartments, despite fears of what company might say.

A large cherrywood armoire shared another wall several matching bookshelves. A heavy oval mirror hung above the armoire, and it was around the mirror that one could see the largest swaths of wallpaper, its rosebud pattern providing a mesmerizing backdrop for the silvered glass. The surface of the armoire gleamed, polished to a sheen that nigh rivaled the mirror above. There were only a few items atop the polished wood: a couple bottles of nail polish, an ornate antique silver cosmetics case, and a few other assorted cosmetics. Two stuffed animals stood guard over these forbidden items: a bear and a bunny rabbit.

The bunny was of the purest white and garbed in a beautiful dress festooned with lace and ribbons. She wore an elegant Easter bonnet and carried a smallish rose-quartz egg. The bear, in contrast, had lilac fur and wore a shimmering white wedding gown.

Two bookshelves flanked the armoire, though their shelves bore precious few books: the bottommost shelves on each featured a collection of paperbacks - Harlequin romance novels, and all but a few appeared well read. The rest of the shelves contained assorted ornamentation from Barbie dolls to stuffed animals, Sailor Moon figures to glass unicorns and pewter faeries.

Another wall was covered in posters, so much so that one can barely see the wallpaper behind. A good many were posters of various fantasy settings, from unicorns gazing at a sunset to impish faeries splashing merrily in a silver brook. Steve's favourite was a six-foot poster of Tinkerbell winking mischievously. Amidst all these posters were some that even Steve was not certain of. One of these was a large poster of the Backstreet Boys. He didn't know why, but he liked having their images gaze upon his bed - it made him feel girlish and excited. It was a relatively new addition to the wall: tacked up over several others, but from the moment he had laid eyes upon the poster, Steve knew that he had to have it.

Below the poster, Steve's second TV sat upon a small table. He had a large 52-inch projection screen in the living room, but more often than not, he preferred to sit in front of the thirteen-inch pink "Hello Kitty" television in his bedroom. It was in the cupboard beneath this television that he kept all the videos he would be embarrassed to have been caught owning. Chiefest amongst these were the Britney Spears music videos - he had every single one.

He didn't particularly care for her music, and while he did find her attractive, she wasn't exactly his type. No, there was something else: the videos and her music somehow appealed to his secret side in a way he could not explain.

Currently playing, however, was another group that moved him in strange ways. He didn't particularly enjoy their music either, but the Backstreet Boys' videos seemed to enhance the feelings and emotions he enjoyed within this pink room. He had bought the video last week, shortly after purchasing the aforementioned poster. Already he had watched it several dozen times; in fact, last night he lay in bed, cuddled up to a large teddy-bear, and watch the video seven times. Though he hadn't slept a wink, Steve felt more refreshed and alive in the morning than he had felt in years.

Almost reluctantly, he tore his eyes from the screen and continued his appraisal of his room. Set between two doorways in the final wall was an antique curio cabinet. Soft light continuously illuminated his collection of Hello Kitty memorabilia therein. One door opened into the master bathroom, an elegant affair of porcelain and bronze with the light scent of rose potpourri purifying the air.

The other doorway was naught but a frame opening into a large walk-in closet. While the armoire contained most of his everyday wear, the closet was a majestic display of fine clothing. Steve almost never wore anything from the closet; simply owning them was enough for him. He could wander in and gaze longingly at fashioned fabric on display. There were dresses, gowns, sweaters and skirts galore though four amongst them were his greatest treasures.

The first was an LBD, a Little Black Dress, which started this collection of illicit clothing. He had bought it some nine years back when he was still a junior in High School. He had saved all his spare money from his job bagging groceries to purchase a gown identical to the one his parents helped his twin sister buy for her prom. Steve couldn't exactly ask his parents to shell out a couple hundred dollars for a dress he wasn't going to wear - a dress he didn't even really want to wear. To this day, he's still not sure how he was able to keep in a secret from his family.

The next two he had picked while he was stationed with the Navy in Japan. He was proudest of the school uniform. It took a year to work up the courage to buy it. He was afraid people might think he was some sort of pervert or pedophile, but Steve knew he had to have one of those outfits before he left Japan. The pleats of the navy blue skirt were still perfectly pressed and brought back many fond memories of his time in Japan. The skirt would have come to just above the knee on a girl, but it rested disturbingly higher on Steve's taller frame. He had tried it on only just the once, and was mortified to find that the skirt reached to only just below mid-thigh: that was how some of the Tokyo girls wore their skirts!

The jumper was similar in style to his Navy dress uniform, though he kept this thin white garment in much better shape that the uniforms he had to wear to work. After all, he couldn't exactly show up to work in this girl's uniform, so the Navy uniforms had obviously been worn more than once. The jumper was complete with a red silk kerchief and a shoulder patch for a school in Osaka. Below the uniform, he kept two pairs of the shoes favoured by the schoolgirls, though in a much larger size. One pair showed minor signs of wear, as they were Steve's favourite to wear around the house; the other pair was immaculate.

His other Japanese outfit was a summer kimono with a delicate plum blossom pattern. This he bought without fear at a bazaar, for it was a twin to the one he sent to his twin, Gilly, for Christmas. The one time he was asked about them, Steve said that he was getting his mother and his sister matching gifts. He had actually sent his mother an expensive pair of ornamental swords because she collected things of that nature.

The final, and most expensive, of all his treasures was a red silk cheongsam, one of those traditional Chinese dresses that transformed even the plainest of women into a being of exotic beauty. This particular one was more seductive than elegant, high-slit on both sides, high collared, sleeveless, trimmed and embroidered with gold thread. The clasps were tiny golden phoenixes, designed to match the delicate embroidery upon the gown itself. Of all the clothing he owned, this was the outfit Steve most wished he could wear. Even if he had the courage, however, there was no way he could fit his tall frame into this cheongsam.

He had fallen in love with the exotic look of the Chinese dress after watching a few "Devil Hunter Yohko" tapes, and had spent three paychecks on having a custom cheongsam made. Though close in cut and fabric to the outfit the bubble-headed anime girl wore, it's style and embroidery were far from the simple yin-yang that adorned Yohko's outfit. This was, however, the costume that Steve idealized for her to wear. Since he had the cheongsam custom-made to the sizes of a trim, petite Japanese (albeit fictional) girl, there was no way he could fit his six foot frame into this, his greatest treasure.

One day, when he had money to spare, Steve planned on getting another one made - this time sized so that he could wear it. He knew that he could never appear in public in one, but he longed just to try the exotic style. Not for the first time, Steve felt a twinge of jealousy that society allowed only girls and women to wear fine clothing. Guys had to be content with a black and white penguin suit for formal attire, and not even casual attire matched the diversity and styles that women were allowed.

His survey of the room complete, Steve was just sitting to watch the video that was still playing when his doorbell rang. Guiltily, he jumped to his feet, turned off the television, and headed toward the front door. No sooner than he had stepped out of his bedroom, Steve was hit by the feeling of unease which had first driven him back into his sanctum.

The storm outside was still raging: the howling of the winds and the incessant drumming of the rain was now accompanied with peals of thunder and blazing bolts of lighting like a cosmic rock concert and light show. The effect was further magnified by the occasional, unnatural shrieks of wind sounding much how one would imagine the tormented screams of the damned. Were it not possible, Steve would have sworn that the feeling of unease grew with every step he took toward the door.

The doorbell rang again, this time followed by an insistent pounding on the door. Tremulously, Steve continued to the front door. By the time he arrived, whoever was at the door was pounding non-stop. Steve was sure the neighbors would complain: he would have had he been in their shoes.

Now visibly trembling, Steve peered through the eyehole to behold a tall, shadowy figure. Lightning struck near, the incredible boom of the thunder nearly shattering the windows. The floor shook in the aftermath as if the earth, and not the sky, had been ripped asunder by the bolt.

In that moment, that brief flash of light, Steve knew true terror, for the figure outside his door was of no earthly origin. The figure was cloaked in an inky darkness; the shadows seemed not to flee but gather instead, in the momentary illumination. Only the head and hands were visible, pale and sculpted and unearthly beautiful. The fingernails, however, seemed more akin to claws, more bestial than human. Flame red hair adorned the being's head, nearly hiding two small horns protruding from the being's pale forehead. But what struck Steve the hardest was the face: the beautiful face, twisted into a mien of undisguised hatred. And the eyes... the eyes... the eyes burned with a malevolence not borne of the mortal realm.

Steve felt the malevolence wash over him and he collapsed to his knees, whelmed by the power this being wielded. He staggered backward in sheer terror and his mind only numbly recognized the words being spoken. The being's voice was oily and slightly sibilant, like a serpent's hissing. "Sssteve," it began, and Steve cringed before the hatred and power of that voice. "Sssteve, come out and your death shall be quick. Resist, and your suffering shall last an eternity. Surrender now, Ag-shamath."

Steve lay quivering on the floor, mind screaming in abject terror though his lips moved wordlessly. He could not go out to that being even if he wanted to. For what seemed like an eternity, he lay upon the floor listening to the being's threats, trying desperately to steel his mind and back away from the door. It stood against all reason, yet he knew that if only he could get back to his bedroom he would be safe.

It was imperceptible at first, but there was something different about the room. Gradually Steve became aware of a faint but sweet aroma feeling the air. He blinked; he could have sworn that one of the teddy bears had moved. From somewhere in the hallway an enchanting female voice sprung forth, her words both song and melody.

"Foul Shade, ye can not enter here."

Steve found comfort and strength in that voice. His mind stopped it's gibbering and he was able to slowly crawl away from the door. The further he made it away from the door and the creature beyond, the stronger he felt, until at last he was standing again. He was standing before the door of his bedroom. He had always referred to it as his sanctum, never expecting it to be like this. Though calm suffused the apartment, the storm yet raged outside.

Opening the door, he stopped mid-stride, halfway into the room. Someone was in here. There she was, an ephemeral figure sitting upon his bed. She was pale, like the creature outside, and yet unlike the creature. She was transparent, a being of mist, and faintly glowing with a wholesome light. The scent of roses permeated the room, akin to the rose potpourri he preferred - stronger, and yet more subtle.

She turned her attention from a stuffed giraffe she had been studying and regarded Steve with a look full of pity and compassion. "Come in, Steve, and close the door. The being outside can not enter, for he is but a shade of himself, yet still he may send minions to do his bidding. You shall be safe in here." She paused and glanced around the room, seeming almost to sigh. "As safe as possible in these dark days."

Her voice was akin to that which had given Steve strength a few moments ago. "Come in, sit down child, and do not be frightened of me. My sisters and I are friends and allies both." She still regarded the man with pity, "I fear we have much to speak of, and it will be hard to believe. But first, I see you have questions?"

Steve had walked in, closing and locking the bedroom door, though he did not know what aid a cheap bedroom lock would be against the terror that was outside. He sat on the bed, and too stunned to be embarrassed, he grabbed the largest bear - a cute white creature with a yellow sundress and ribbons, and cuddled up for security. The figure laid her hand upon his knee, and even through his jeans, her touch was chill. She repeated, "You have questions?"

"Who, what are you?" And as if speaking had opened a dam, more questions streamed forth, "What was that, that thing outside? What's going on? How did you get in here...? This isn't just some bad dream is it?" Even as he asked, he knew that the answer to his final question was that it was, unfortunately, not a dream.

The ghostly figure smiled and Steve realized that she wasn't as plain as she appeared, for now she was truly beautiful, yet perhaps not in the classic sense. "Who am I? I am," she paused, considering, "a guide. You can call me Amelia. That thing outside was a shade, a construct of the Dark Prince bearing a portion of his power. He is ... our enemy." A dark look flashed across her fair face and Steve got a glimpse of her power.

She regarded him sadly. "How did I get here?" A single tear rolled gently down her cheek. "I live here, Steve. I have watched over you since your conception. I should have been the one you turned to for comfort, not these dolls." She held up the giraffe again. "When you had the measles, he kept you company instead of me..." The ghostly figure wiped yet another tear from her cheek. "Oh how that hurt, oh how often I wished to reveal myself to you, but the Five had decreed... They had hoped..." Amelia sniffed and shook her head. "But, alas their hopes were in vain, and now the dark day comes indeed and you are untrained."

Steve started to ask what she was talking about, but Amelia raise her hand. "Sorry, I shall try to explain, though this may be hard to believe," she glanced around the room again, "or not, but you are special, Steve. You are different than others." She wiped another tear from her eyes. "I think I should start from the beginning. This may seem an odd tale and perhaps confusing, yet you will understand. I know you will." She seemed to want to believe that so much that Steve couldn't help nodding.

Amelia smiled, then continued. "In the beginning was Nothing, and after an eternity, six figures sprang from the darkness. These beings are the Prime Eternals, and they became known as Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Light, and Darkness. From their forms they fashioned all of creation, pushing aside the Nothing and giving form to that which they created. During this time, they worked in concert treating one another as equals.

"For a reason that has never been explained to us, mankind first began to fear Darkness and then to revere Light above all. Darkness grew angry and threatened to destroy everything unless mankind treated him as Light's equal. When they failed to do, Darkness' rage grew terrible and the other Prime Eternals were forced to take action to protect their creations. First to their aid was the Warrior, Fire. Fire first gifted mankind with knowledge of her form, to hold Darkness at bay. Later she gifted the daughters of mankind with powerful magics. These magics were both defensive to protect mankind and offensive to take the war to Darkness.

"Darkness' rage grew greater and he swore that not only would mankind hold him as Light's equal, but as superior to the other Prime Eternals. Many men, swayed by his hollow promises, pledged themselves to Darkness, and from their lines were born the various demons and minions that Darkness controls to this day.

"The war was great between them and even the Prime Eternals lay wounded upon the battlefield. Darkness stood ready to slay Light, but one woman held her ground. She was known as Tianna, newly come into the blessings of Fire. She knew not fear and repelled Darkness countless times, eventually casting him from the battlefield.

"The toll was more than any mortal could bear. After she had defeated the wounded Darkness, Tianna collapsed to her knees, five drops of blood falling from her brow upon the wounded Light. He blessed her, then, and the five drops of blood sprang up, transformed into five crimson-haired women. Fire's blessing would stay with them and their descendants, though mankind no longer needed the magics Fire had granted the daughters of man. These five became known as the Ti'Arin, the Sisters of Flame. Later, mankind came to call their descendants Warrior-Witches.

"Tianna's spirit arose from her body and guided the Ti'Arin, instructing them in both warfare and witchcraft. When the mortal shell of a Ti'Arin dies, the spirit remains, serving as both guide and friend to those new to the Sisterhood." She paused, "Still following me?"

Steve nodded, "I still don't see what that has to do with me, or that thing outside, and what did it call me, an Ag-Shamath?"

Amelia winced, "Please, I pray to never hear the foul words of the Dark Tongue from your lips again. In the foul language of the servants of Darkness, he called you..." The ghost paused, searching for way to say it easier, "he called you a Daughter of Fire. Steve, this may be difficult to accept, but you bear within you the power of Fire, you are a descendent of Tianna's line. You are a Ti'Arin, a Sister of Flame."

 

 

 

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