My Sweet Prince – Dark Massacre

Disclaimer: I write fanfiction, obviously I don't own Dragonball Z. Sheesh, you're all such fucking morons if you think I do!

I smirk as I stalk down a never-ending corridor, the walls black and oozing with brown sludge, passing rats and dead birds alike as I slowly make my way to where I know my prey has hidden. Trapped, alone, defenseless. With nothing to do, and no one to protect him, I know he is waiting, lying there in a curled up ball, crying, out of his mind with fear.

Poor baby, I shall take away his pain soon enough.

But first, I shall make him suffer.

I storm down into the tiny room and grin at him as if I were a maniac, my footsteps causing him to dart his head up and cry out, his pupils tiny from fright and disorientation. But seeing his fear only builds my excitement and rage. He shakes in terror and anxiety, causing my already absurd-lengthed grin to stretch wider, him crawling away and his hands and knees to try and get away from me.

But I won't let him escape; he must die.

I swoop down on him, picking him up by the roots of his long black hair and lift him to my height, whispering cruel and savage things into his ear about his family; what I could – and would – do to them, his eyes creating tears that flow down his face and make me shudder in delight. His pain is just such a pleasure to me that I cannot help myself when I bite into his ear, tasting his dark blood, grinning elatedly as he screams in pain, thrashing the little he can. I move my lips from his ear and chuckle, my obsidian eyes glittering with a sadistic cruelty that might possibly have made me shiver in delight if I saw it myself.

Giving pain gives me such a deep thrill.

I love to see tears, and peril etched into the faces of the living and the dead. It gives me such a rush of power and I crave to feel more. Even though I know I'm turning into a murdering machine, I cannot help but relish and welcome it.

No longer shall I be what others desire me to be. I killed them all for my freedom, and I feel no guilt.

I snapped their necks, and slit their wrists, and I laughed as their blood drained away. They all cried for help, you know. They all begged me to stop, they cried the name they had given me, they clawed at my leg as I crushed their weak bodies one by one.

And I loved it.

The splatter of their blood, their cries, the fear and blissful agony I could see in their eyes…it made me wish I had the time to taste the sweat and tears still lingering on their dead, useless corpses, or smear their beautiful red blood over my face. Distastefully, I did not get the time to enjoy the fruits of my labour, more idiots arriving to their destruction as they felt the lives of their friends vanish, knowing I was there and wondering if I needed their help to fight this new evil.

Hmpf. As if I ever needed their pitiful help. I'm more than capable of handling everything on my own. They flatter themselves.

Too bad I was this new evil.

They just couldn't fight me. No, of course not. Who would suspect that I, pure and innocent as I am – or was – could ever turn cruel and sadistic like this? They just didn't understand. They thought they could reason with me…ha! I am beyond their pathetic reasons.

I no longer care if the Earth is in peril, or if there is a new threat. This is my planet; it always has been! I'll destroy anyone who thinks that they can take anything that is rightfully mine from my soulless grip. They will suffer just as much as my 'friends', just as much as those other fools who ever stood against me!

I flick my gaze back to the squirming man before me, still shuddering and twisting to break free of my powerful grip, but he could never escape me, never break away. I'm too strong for him, I have been for quite a long time, and I know it sickens him.

It always sickened you, my sweet Prince, and it will always sicken you, even in your death you shall feel ill from it, I promise you that.

With a smirk, I lick the blood from his ear, his squirming and shaking creating a feeling of lust within me, and my eyelids droop. The others never inspired this reaction within me…even when I managed to taste their blood…it was nothing like this…thick…hot…venom.

I can taste his venomous hatred of me in this sweet delicacy I stole from him, and it just causes the feeling of arousal and desire to grow, my eyes skimming over his deliciously-sculpted body, so similar, and yet so different from mine. I yearn to touch him in a perverse manner, whether it is to feed my growing lust, or to increase his obvious hatred of me, I cannot say, but I want it anyway.

So I touch him, pinning him to the wall and just…grinning…igniting his anger and fear as I bind him to the sludge, his back arching off it, his eyes wide in terror and disgust as I press him back against it and run my hands over his chest.

Yes, my sweet Prince, I am aware of your dislike of sludge and slime…but this is not about you…this is about me…my wants, my desires, my plans, not yours.

I snicker as he tries to get away, probably knowing by now that I intend to do with him, but I am not worried. He cannot escape from me, he has no choice but to do as I please; but it shall end in his death whether he plays along and allows my desires or not.

I laugh as my hands roam over his lithe body, over hard muscles and soft flesh alike, delighting in the feeling of either textures under my hands, feeling his skin grow goosebumps and shiver at my touches. His eyes show exactly what I want them to – fear and desire – as I slowly slip down his training shorts and prepare myself to take what I want, the conflict of emotions in his eyes just cheering me on as I complete my entrance, laughing and purring into his ear.

And as I move within him, he cries and claws at me, in pain or pleasure, I do not care which. It is clear he loves it when I bite at his neck, ripping his skin lightly, creating droplets of blood to suck from his bronzed skin, before pulling back and laughing at him as he knows exactly what I'm doing.

He knows that after I've used him for what I want, that I'll slowly torture him and kill him.

He knows my mind is set on it.

I pound harder and he cries out, his voice echoing down the walls and corridors of the dark sewer, making me shudder as it sounds more pained than pleasured, my lust driving onward, the desire to hurt him increasing with every cry, though the urge is mild. I lean forward and whisper how it feels to be inside him, and how I'm going to kill him, but he is too absorbed into my movements that my words are unheard, or perhaps he doesn't care anymore.

But it's all the same to me, my sweet Prince…you are the one…to die tonight…whether I derive my sinful pleasure from you or not.

Your life means nothing to me.

Eventually, my cruel desire is over, as I crush him to the wall and bellow his name, feeling him yelling my true name in unison, somehow feeling a completion inside me that I don't like. I don't like the way this has made me feel; I have gotten my gratification from him, but this…feeling! I hate this feeling!

Glaring into his eyes, a see a sort of sleepy pleasure in them, and it just sickens me. As does the sticky white I can see on him and myself, and his content lopsided smile. My rage builds and I push away, building a gigantic energy blast in my hand, looking at him as he slips to the floor, his knees bent, exposing all of him.

I suppress a pleasured shiver at the sight and growl, looking him in the eyes, wanting to create fear in him, or pleading. He needs to suffer! I move close again and growl as I run my energy over his thighs, burning the soft supple flesh right off his bones, his scream and cry of agony making me grin cruelly again as his hot blood splatters onto me, my newly sadistic nature rising up to strangle this new emotion as my hands extinguish the energy and move to strangle him.

It is now time for his death.

My hands close greedily around his throat as I realise I am sweating, the idea making me angrier. I should not have to sweat to kill him! His eyes widen as my grip tightens, and he reaches up to try and move my hands away, but it is futile; there is no escape from me!

He becomes more desperate as he seems to realise that I am going to kill him, and he struggles, both hands clasping mine and pulling, but my movements are like a Chinese finger trap, and the same consequences occur with me; the more you pull, the tighter it gets. He gasps my name pitifully, and tries to escape again; trembling, but I will not let him! I will not show mercy to him!

Finally, with a sickening, yet entirely satisfying crunch, his neck is warm and limp in my hands, like pulp, and his head rests on my arm at a funny angle, his expression frozen in place, his chest not moving. With a smile, I move away, wiping the gore onto the black walls as I sweep my way back out of the dank and infested place I chased him into, finally meeting fresh air as I find myself outside.

I slowly levitate into the air and for some sinking reason, I feel ashamed.

Not that I killed him, oh no. I'm not ashamed about that. I'm ashamed that I gave in to a stupid desire like that…even if it was a good fuck. I smirk and survey the landscape as I choose my next target. Ah, Hercule isn't too far away… I laugh as I fly at super speed towards his home; he won't suspect a thing, except the blood…

But I can always tell the truth; I've been hunting, haven't I?

Goodnight, my sweet Prince…we'll see each other again.

Count on it.