So the castle was crawling with guards as of now, but for right now at least, Hartmann thought that Owen was possibly up at some point to become his man on the net - and the guards themselves despite a few having an encounter with him - they seemed to be eager to try and see him as "one of us". Meaning he could move around and talk to the staff of the castle about what was going on, what kind of preparations were being made, and more to the point, what kind of undertakings were at work. There had to be something going on here beyond the obvious with the Eon Chronicle's delivery.
Hartmann wouldn't go to all this trouble, set all this up, just in order to have some item dropped off on his doorstep. He'd involved Owen's friends and associates for a reason. There had to be either something about the Eon Chronicle, or something about the situation, that was just out of sight as of yet.
Heading for the hallways, Owen saw that it looked like the serving staff here was at work getting several rooms in the castle clean. And it was when he got a better look at the staff that Owen started to notice something. The guys who did guard duty around here were all white guys. Likely hired from the ranks of AfD or their local affiliates, going by the way they acted and who they were working for. But the serving staff and those on wait were all, it seemed, either people of mixed race or immigrants.
Considering all that Hartmann revealed about his beliefs in their one on one meeting, Owen doubted this was some display of charity. He was finding himself feeling less and less at home with the hard right, he knew well enough there was something going on. Whispering to himself, Owen contemplated, "Considering I doubt Hartmann wants to fuck his waiting staff...and I doubt he'd go to all this trouble just to give his men people to bully..."
Approaching a young woman doing touch up on some antiques and tables in one of the rooms, Owen asked, "Excuse me, ah, excuse me...I'd like to ask---"
She gave a long sigh, and stated in a tired tone, "I can only get this done so quickly. If you boys would like to show how superior you are, go right ahead and do the job yourself, mm?" She was a lithe Libyan woman, dressed more for function than any kind of "maid fetish" idea someone might've had. Her hair was hidden in a hood, and Owen could see some scrapes on her elbows and knees. "Or are you here for a rude demand? Down on your knees, Rania, hm?"
"Not what I was going to ask. Not remotely," Owen shook his head (and noted the guards here were even scummier than he thought), and said, "I'd like to ask if there's been anything going on here. I'm with those guys that brought the item in. Just...wanted to know what might be going on here."
She got up and stretched, her back popping audibly from how long she spent doing her work in such an ill-advised stance, "Aside from giving us here dirty looks whenever we don't flatter em? The guards've been behaving kind of oddly. And honestly, if they don't like me sharing much with an outsider boy...good. I'm desperate enough to work for Hartmann. I'm not desperate enough to kiss up."
She looked outside, watching a guard walk by and pressing her finger to her lips - to wait for him to go by and then continue.
"I've seen them bringing vehicles to the main garage. I was doing upkeep on the pipes when I saw it," Rania stated, "Rehearsing. It sounded like they were getting ready for some time when they were all to vacate."
Owen stared for a moment, putting any of this together seemed difficult. The guards were going to be...just...leaving? For what reason? Was it something about the village below? Was it something that they were intending to do? Could it be some sort of heinous ceremony involving the Eon Chronicle? "And...they said nothing about it to you and the rest of the staff? The guards are gonna go and just---leave the rest of the castle staff here?"
"Yes. I asked Menhar and Kwame about it, and neither said they were approached by anyone about leaving the castle in force. And those two were heads of cleaning and head of staff." Rania looked at Owen and started to put things together about him, "But you're not one of Hartmann's boys, are you?"
She then asked, "So who are you?"
"I'm Owen Bolton. I'm just..." He breathed, "I don't know what I really am any more in relation to anything." Wiping off his forehead of a fair few beads of sweat, Owen continued at length, "I just don't know what I really am or what I really want! I thought for the longest time that being a skinhead, being a Nazi, brought me stability! I thought that it told me I was strong, and special, and everyone just wanted to keep me down! But I still felt down in my gang! There were new rules, new things I couldn't be, couldn't do. There was absolutely nothing liberating or empowering about it - nothing that helped me or made me feel better. It just controlled me, made me get upset at myself, hate myself, hate who I am and who I like, and hate others and I am just so fucking tired of it!!"
He blushed a little when he realized he went on an extended rant. Even more when he felt tears by his cheeks. "I'm...I'm sorry. That. That was ugly of me. I shouldn't have---"
"Don't be upset you have emotions," Rania stated, "Allah puts all of us here for a reason. And whether you believe one way or another, I think you were put here for a reason, Owen Bolton."
"Thank you, Rania." Owen responded, drying his tears. There was a time for crying, and there was a time for action. Now was a time for action. "I'll keep my eyes and ears open. See what's going on. For right now, I can walk around and look into things openly."
"Then go - look into everything. Ask the chefs, ask the meal prep staff. Tell them Rania said you're in good with her. If we're going to unravel these things, we need to work together and communicate." With that, Owen shook hands with her and the two started to head off in different directions - Owen's resolve hardened as he finally got a lot of his feelings off his chest without them being judged or used against him.
He remembered the way Martin had handled everything, pushed him forward - but also pushed him away from addressing the Eon Chronicle...
A quick shake of his head.
He could figure out what was right and what was wrong in his friend group when they weren't at risk of some fate lurking just outside their view. And something told young Owen that when night came tonight...well, somebody tell me fate has been kind... The less light from the sun in this difficult, dark place, the more the unsettling feeling emanating from just outside the walls and near the floors intensified.
He'd have to get every preparation done before the sun dipped below the horizon.
Owen went ahead and moved through the castle with an ease now that he knew that Rania had his back, and that she had some status among the other workers here. Indeed when he went ahead and talked to some other maids and serving staff, mentioning Rania led to them defrosting toward him far quicker - and telling him more about what was going on. Apparently there were a number of odd deliveries in the last week that were known only to the cooks...
So Owen paid a visit to the cooks.
Letting the head cook know that Rania said he should look into things back here led to a rather shocking admission from the older man;
"We were given some samples of some odd drugs. I assumed they were for some rather adventurous guests, but one of my serving girls tried it - and ended up unconscious! It seems Herr Hartmann ordered some kind of knockout drug to be mixed with the drinks. Benzodiazepine, I think that was something. Possibly Rohypnol."
Owen stood there in the entrance to the kitchen, glancing at several cases of champagne resting on the corner of the nearest table like full cases of abject poison. He didn't betray any immediate emotional reaction or freak out publicly, to avoid drawing the attention of any guards who might hear a loud, animate reaction and grow suspicious. But privately he was starting to wonder what exactly Hartmann hoped to do with these things.
Owen knew that this guy had, it seemed, done some research on them. So he knew that Owen as he was before was not in all likelihood a drinker. But Martin? Oh, Martin loved his drink as he loved his women - in copious amounts.
"Thank you, sir, I'll uh, keep this in mind." Owen then hurried out of the kitchen to avoid being seen too long in any one given place. He thought he heard the chef say something like he'd best have his wits about him going into the meal tonight. But it wasn't Owen that it seemed this poisoning strategy was concocted for. Owen knew that Hartmann knew their personalities and habits. In all likelihood Martin would celebrate their victory in bringing the Eon Chronicle here - and then get knocked out.
But what then?
Yet again there seemed to be a frustrating blank in the midst of their situation. That there was some sort of "other shoe that was yet to drop". Something that remained in secret, but which would immediately tie everything together. And what was worse, Owen didn't know if he was even capable of stopping the proverbial shoe from dropping. Everything seemed to be heading toward either the dinner tonight, or something to occur after it, during the darkest hours of night.
As Owen walked through the dark hallways of Drosstein, he thought he heard an argument occurring between the guards. He paused at the edge of the path leading to a crossroad, glancing around and hearing the barest shreds of the argument. But it was going on just far enough away and with just enough secrecy that it made it difficult to hear what was going on. Owen risked it - taking a step closer. Trying to keep his feet from making any noise on these old rocks.
He was getting closer down this hallway, toward the argument...and then it stopped.
And he froze as he saw one of the guards moving down the hallway, directly at him.
The man stopped as he saw Owen frozen mid-step, and glanced the young man over for about a minute, and then crossed his arms, "Keep moving, boy. You look ridiculous." When the man slapped Owen's shoulder, he took a quick breath and almost stumbled forward. He'd felt like he might've been discovered there, but for some reason the man seemed like he was...just not interested? Dismissive? Something else was going on there.
Cupping his chin, the skinhead shrugged and kept going.
Further along this path, back toward the entrance, Owen discovered that there was a mechanism related to the enormous chandelier at the middle of the great hall. The machines there could draw it further up in the air, bring it further down, and then there was a set of buttons to activate a set of fire emitters. Basically high tech versions of candles. It could become a regular display for any guests seated near the hall...
Owen however darted away from the machine at the top of the path there when he thought he heard someone coming.
Instead of a guard, however, he saw it was Rania walking down the hall toward him.
The Libyan woman shook her head, "I get it. This place isn't exactly welcoming. But if you're jumping at shadows, this won't get any easier. Dinner's gonna be starting soon, and something tells me that outright skipping it will make a number of people quite suspicious."
Owen nodded, figuring that this was it. The big moment was looming now. No stopping it at this point.
***
If Owen had wanted to try and tell Martin to take it easy on the drinks tonight, as a way to try and get him to at least minimize the amount of drugs that ended up in his system, that was a lost cause by the time Owen arrived at the dining hall. Martin was already eating his way through a fine seasoned steak, turkey, and three cases of the tainted champagne.
Owen shook his head - never did he feel more validated in his choice not to drink.
But as he sat there and awkwardly picked at some chicken, rice and slices of melon laid out in and among the other food, he hoped this stuff at least wasn't poisoned. Though going by the way the chef had talked, it seemed that only the things Martin was most likely to have and enjoy in great intensity were being tampered with. As if they either wanted him out of the picture during whatever stood to happen...or they wanted him unconscious for what was due to happen.
Owen made sure that his meal was small and did not overly fill him up.
It was already known to him that eating too much and filling himself up right before a workout would just make him sick. But he didn't doubt that the same logic followed through in whatever stood to happen tonight.
"C-Coooome on, Owen, be a good boy!" Martin raucously slapped the table and rocked back and forth. It was doubtless that the tampering and the extant strong effect of this kind of drink were likely bearing out their effect on Martin. The older of the two was already behaving...differently. Owen just sat there awkwardly and trying to focus on his meal.
"You knooooow..." Martin glanced at Owen from head to toe, "I'm personally straight but I do you know appreciate the work that goes into that unique look of yours..." Martin slurred and wavered as he glanced Owen over.
"So uh." Owen spoke up, glancing around the room and seeing that of their group, only he and Martin had so far arrived. And Hartmann hadn't met them here either. Crossing his arms, Owen asked, "Where's Lucky? Scottie?"
"No fucking clue, man, maybe they're fucking all over the floor of their room!"
Martin chuckled and gripped the side of his edge of the table. It was clear as day as far as Owen could see that he'd gotten really heavily into the drinks. Not even questioning what might be in them. Because honestly, if one didn't know or have any inkling what was going on...why would someone question. It hit Owen then that if he hadn't picked up on the vibe, if he hadn't treated Rania as an equal in this...then that would've probably been him, too.
"Shouldn't we wait for them to join us here---?" Owen asked, finishing up his chicken and awkwardly pressing his fork into the rice for a moment.
"Naah I mean, if they wanted to be here, they'd be here. I mean, whatever they're doing...if they wanna miss out, let em miss out, milite." Martin gestured at Owen, and then almost stumbled and fell from his seat, "Whew man this stuff is strong. Man I---I uhh, I wanted to fool around with you some more tonight. Cuz you'd been good 'n' all. But I can't very well do that now, can I? I'm fuckin' wrecked on this stuff! I'd get whisky dick for sure!"
"You...are really, really drunk, Martin." Owen stated, looking to the side and seeing a guard entering. Can't let it be too obvious I know something's off here.
"Tell me about it, bro! Fuck, I may---I may have to take a raincheck on the fucking meal too...fuck, I---I think I gonna fuckin'----" And that was all Owen managed to get from Martin - and the Roman stumbled and fell out of his seat. Immediately Owen rushed to get up to help his friend, the fall was at an angle where the skinhead couldn't have seen where and whether Martin had hit his head or not.
And just the moment Owen started checking to make sure Martin was okay, Hartmann entered.
The jovial looking fat fascist chuckled, "Well, it seems he indeed had just a bit too much of my vintage. Such is what happens when these party boys from America think they can handle all that Europe throws at them." Hartmann then chuckled darkly, looking over at Owen, "As for you, Mr. Bolton..."
Bruno then stated in a somewhat surprisingly dark tone, "If everything's proceeding according to my plans, then you may well want to make sure you stay indoors tonight. Lock your doors tight, and don't bother looking into any noises you might here. When the morning comes, you will be safe and sound and ready to either go or join me as my live in influencer. Whichever you prefer."
Two guards moved forward to carry Martin off toward his room, and before long, Owen headed off toward his room as well.
Once he arrived at his room, not even given time enough to check on Lucky and Scottie's rooms while following the guards back there, he checked his backpack. Taking a seat on his bed, Owen knew what he wasn't doing tonight. And that was staying inside and minding his own business while whatever ghoulish business went on in the rest of the castle. Let alone what else he saw on his way back.
Owen swore he saw the guards put Martin in his room - but then they just left the door unlocked with the unconscious Martin lying on his back on the bed. Worry also spiked through his mind as far as Rania and the other waiting staff in the building who he'd at least gotten acquainted with. No questions asked tonight though - he was not going to be getting a wink of sleep.
***
While Owen explored the castle and had an eventful dinner, Lucky and Scottie fooled around without a care in the world right then and there in the reliquary.
Neither gave much thought to why the reliquary that housed the device that Hartmann had gone to such trouble to acquire was now left unlocked. Or why there were no guards posted at the entrance. Indeed, the very idea their use and misuse of the device was strictly anticipated and in fact, in line with the schemes of Hartmann. Liplocking right in front of the Eon Chronicle just felt right. Lucky and Scottie's passion was so complete that they hardly noticed anything besides each other.
Indeed, they did not even notice the small security camera posted underneath a statuette along the wall. If their behavior and sexual misadventures were against anything, they would've been ceased.
"Fuck, man...this thing has been better for me than any drug I've ever taken..." Lucky murmured into Scottie's neck. The Viking just responded by groping at the powerful muscles of his Greek opposite.
"I feel so close to the Aesir here. Far up in the world, away from the---the hate of my folks back home." Scottie moaned as he felt Lucky nibble at one of his nipples, the Viking then pinning Lucky to the floor and making out hot and heavy with him again.
Lucky, Greek bronzed skin heavy with sweat, moaned - feeling the big Nordic's mouth suck on his neck, a hickey forming as he pulled off. "Yess... we are...we are reflections of our Gods..." He gasped, the big muscled Nordic worshiping the muscled, powerful form of the Greek man's body beside him.
"The Eon Chronicle changed us like this, and it can change us even more." Lucky stated, lust clouding his eyes. "It's a matter of will and need, my friend. We have the power of the gods before us - but we are no gods. We are their chosen heroes, but we can only go so far with our bodies as they are."
"...Chosen heroes...? Lucky, are you---are you high? High---High off of the proximity to the Eon Chronicle?" Scottie responded - but he was too turned on right now to do much with hearing this.
"Yes, that is correct. This place... it has made me want you in ways I cannot even fathom, Scottie. I need your body, I need your love and your soul. And the Eon Chronicle can give us what we need...in all ways. It's all about willpower, the willpower to use it for all it's capable of."
Scottie - for his part - just assumed this was all Greek poetic stuff. He was a Viking - he wasn't big on being taken. But right now he was too enthralled with Lucky...! "Fuck---Fuck me, bro. Fuck me hard."
Scottie gasped as he felt Lucky kiss down his body first, and Lucky obliged as he got Scottie nice, wet and ready...
And thus began the two men's sexual congress. It was rough, and hard, and it went on for a while - Lucky's cock slamming into the Viking's ass. Muscles crashing against one another as the two of them indulged long overdue desires. They'd wanted to do something like this ever since they had arrived at Castle Drosstein. But now... now was the time.
"Fucking... hell! I'm getting close...!" Scottie grunted, the Viking's eyes rolling up as Lucky's thick cock slammed into his prostate over and over.
"I'm---I'm gonna fucking cum, Scottie! Zeus...bless...me!!" Lucky exulted as he looked up at the ceiling. At the dark murals that graced the towering ceiling above. He looked up at the image of a god who's face was obscured, his spear pointed upwards towards the heavens. The mural depicted him surrounded by other figures who looked similar - yet their faces were not visible either.
A pantheon invisible, figures clad in shadows, gathered around something at the center. A figure of unknowable inspiration...! And with that, Lucky came - hard - cock buried in Scottie's ass.
And thus, Scottie felt himself being filled by Lucky's seed. Lucky, still inside Scottie, was kissing the Viking, passionately, as the two men came down from their lustful high. Scottie, lying there in the afterglow, hardly heard Lucky getting up in a stupor. Scottie, enjoying the feeling of intimacy with someone he felt so close to, never anticipated Lucky gripping the Eon Chronicle again.
But when he looked up and saw Lucky was not there, he glanced around - and saw Lucky holding that red and black undulating orb. Nude body cast in its harsh light. The Greek grinned broadly, like an addict taking another dose, as he thumbed through dates.
12,000B flashed in the holograms depicted in the hologram.
As Lucky pressed the depicted number, he grunted suddenly - muscles tensing as he felt a transformation begin. He was becoming a caveman!
"What the...?!" Scottie exclaimed, watching the transformation take place.
Lucky's head became larger and his skull became broader. His teeth grew sharper and his skin turned into a deep tan. His skin grew thick with hair, his muscles surging with primordial strength. Lucky groaned as the change took place. His hands and feet became rougher, nails harder. His hair became messy and stringy, dark in coloration. His form became slightly shorter, eyes looked wilder, the color of amber.
And the whole process completed in itself, one final burst of growth across Lucky's newly primal body.
Lucky was now a primordial man, standing there in the nude, the Eon Chronicle hovering over him as the caveman looked back at Scottie.
"I---I---uh---I urgh..." Lucky tried to speak.
"Lucky?" Scottie asked, "Are you uh, having trouble speaking?"
Lucky nodded.
"Can you understand me though, yeah?"
Another nod.
"You wanna go another round, bro? You happy with your caveman bod?"
Lucky's response was a broad, sharp grin.
Moving up toward him, further toward the Eon Chronicle, Scottie kissed Lucky - the caveman quickly returning the favor. Scottie felt up Lucky's body, his inner intellectual interacting with his hormonal nature. He was touching a body that hadn't been seen on Earth in eons. He was touching a specimen of mankind that no one else could ever replicate.
"This is fucking amazing...!" Scottie whispered, feeling up Lucky's body. The Greek man looked to the Eon Chronicle.
"It---is. Is not it?" Lucky managed to speak, wrapping his arms around Scottie and grinding his cock against the Viking's own manhood.
"Yeah...fuck, you're so damn hot..." Scottie replied, moaning and rubbing his cock against Lucky's, the two of them frotting, "We have the power of the gods..." Scottie felt more curious about the notion than the sheer conviction he heard in Lucky earlier. Even now as he gave himself fully to his passions he found himself thinking despite how his instincts shouted from within to take and enjoy now and think of the rationales later.
The frottage went on, Lucky finding speech difficult but something he was still mostly capable of. The two young men slicker with sweat still as they fucked away any misgivings.
Lucky grinned a broad, odd looking grin, "Yes...we do, don't we? We... can use it to better ourselves. To m-m-make---ourselves greater. Great---Greaterer than any man ever thought possible."
Scottie's cock was rubbing against Lucky's as he listened, enrapt. The Viking's eyes were wide with lust.
Before long, both men were careening toward orgasm - tired, spent and fulfilled. Their bodies tensing up as they approached the inevitable. Scottie grunted and moaned - almost approaching a scream of sheer desire, his voice echoing around the vast chamber. Not long after the two of them finished, they collapsed - completely tired. Fulfilled, the two men slept under the incandescent light of that device that they held in such regard.
And perchance, began to dream. For Lucky, it was a brilliant dream, seeing his gods so close to him. Swirling around him as if a mist of glory. He grunted and shifted in his sleep, a broad grin on his features as he chased further and further into this dream. The dreamlands deep beneath churning waves, a boundless palace full of unending glories poised before him. Towers sprawling toward the ersatz skies of the waves above...
But for Scottie, the dream was less a dream of glory, more of a nightmare.
A world wrought of oil and cast in the suffering of figures bound and melded into the shape of pillars supporting the vast walls and ceilings above. Empty eyes remaining horrified in a reflection of their final moments. It looked as if the walls and pillars here writhed with the still living agonies of those sealed into these foreign shapes, distorted and damned. What he saw were things - endless, oily things that swung their wretched limbs from the ceilings, squamous tendrils squelching with unerring direction. He could feel them wrap about his form, could see the things that lived here, see their horrid nature in everything from their form to their creations.
They parted like the shell of a clam, broad conical mouth stretching open, a grotesque humanoid feature within as it lifted him - long features and broad mouth open. Not a single eye, the thing had two darting tongues that licked the air.
And as if he might have thought this thing lurching before him was the greatest horror, Scottie saw something that immediately made it seem small. Formed like some sort of cephalopod stretched into almost humanoid proportions, the thing held him aloft in its ancient den of depravity. Regarded him like how some small child might regard a most intriguing insect it had never seen before. Maw lined with fangs, its whole body formed of dangling veins, conglomerated tentacles and pulsating flesh that seamlessly issued forth into more tentacles. Its form gave the impression of a regal ruler's robe. Its eyes were blank, white voids that glanced down at him with a smirking satisfaction.
It spoke to him in a blasting tone, voice like thunder echoing in his ears, "All knees...all knees shall bow. And all lips shall confess...confess the truth. The ancient, primordial truth. Thy master hath come, my will be done."
Scottie quaked, cried and twisted in his sleep as he saw this eldritch, ancient horror poised.
Both men, however, despite the vast differences in their dreams, uttered the same name. One spoke the name with reverence befitting a god. The other in the quiet terror of someone feeling his sanity and faith erode.
"Ol---Ol---OLARIC!!!" Cried Scottie in horror.
"OLARIC FTHAGN!!!" Screamed Lucky in sheer religious devotion.
And further up in the castle, sat in his little office surrounded by the dark memories of days gone by, Bruno Hartmann grinned.