Book Of The Path

Title: Book Of The Path.



Author: RaveEchidna



Fandom: Silent Hill 2 with splashes of the other games/ movie.



Paring(s): James/Maria, Pyramid Head(s)/James…too many to list



Warnings: Spoilers, Heterosexual sex, Gay sex, rape, snuff, dubious consent, gore, torture, child abuse, death, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, strong langue….lots and lots of very wrong things.



Rating: R-NC 17



Disclaimer: I do not Own Silent Hill Konami and Team Silent do. I just wanted to play with the world they made.



Summary: Slight A.U. a new twist on the ending to the game. James finds that once Silent Hill embraces you nothing can wash away the stain of its corrupted touch come partake in the bloodshed and sin as a tale of madness and vile deeds as it unfolds.

Notes: With much thanks to my editor DarkStorm, and to those that have reviewed.







James woke to fingers lovingly brushing over his cheek, mapping the soft skin and the shape of the bones underneath. His entire body throbbed with each beat of his heart, with every rise and fall of his chest. His hazel eyes fluttered open, the soft almost serenity brought on by the tenderness of the touch was replaced by sheer horror. Latex-encased fingers continued to stroke James’s cheek. The gore-spattered digits glided slowly past the face and into golden locks, raking through the sunlight silk.





The chase and hunt was finally over; the Portal had been conquered. All that remained was to reap the bounty of captured flesh. *You caused me pains that all others save my other would be torn slowly apart with my hands and teeth.* the red demon snarled, taking a fistful of hair and pulled it harshly.





Sharp pain lanced through James, his body arched, twisting, trying to create slack. “Shit!” His eyes watered and a few tears slid down his cheeks. He wondered if the twisted thing was planning to rip his scalp away as it had his clothing. He swallowed hard, his body sagging when the Crimson Sadist released his hair. “Why! Why are you tormenting me?” James tried to lunge and force the demon to possibly act without thought, making it a quick death. He cried out as his body pulled taut, he’d been chained down. He winced away when the large gloved hand returned to the gentle pets. “Answer me you fucking bastard!” The blond hissed, trying to pull away from the touch. “Why? What the hell are you DOING?”





The questions hung in the air unanswered creating an unreal silence broken only by a rattle of chain or small, frightened sounds from James. The cruel Judge’s hand never left the blond’s bound body. The gloved fingers slid over each line curve and dip of toned chest and arms. The touch, although rough, was tender, only pressing hard over faded scars, gifts of childhood stunts and loving hands of correction. During the slow exploration James had once again closed his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling, trying for a time to drift in a dark limbo of his own creation.





His entire body leapt as the touch slid lower, brushing down and caressing the soft patch of curls. James’s eyes shot open showing an extreme amount of white. “Don’t touch that!” He howled, thrashing against the chains that held him, hissing when the cuffs around his wrists started to dig, cutting, drawing lines of ruby. Shame and anger burned within him, making his cheeks flush and his breaths come out in staggering gasps. “Stop!” Yet the bastard did not, the gloved hand feathered through the curls and down the length of oftentimes traitorous flesh. “Don’t.” The commanding, demanding tone that had been laced with subconscious arrogance had faded into a broken cry akin to begging. “Please don’t.” James struggled against the bonds, against his body that was betraying him and taking pleasure in the touches. His hazel eyes could not, would not move from the filth-covered glove that currently stroked and pumped him, tempting his body with each skilled erotic touch. To his horror he felt the rush of heat and his hips bucked into the tormenter’s masterful curled hand. “No—no—no!” He had been married and happy to a beautiful adoring seraph; how could his body be betraying him? How could be getting aroused by this blasphemy? He moaned when the hand was removed, his body shuddering.





Confusion filled James as the demon stepped back leaving him bound and suffering a throbbing ache between his legs. Confusion gave way to fear as the shadow of the beast loomed over him once more, its tongue lolling out from under the massive helm. Ropes of saliva trailed down the black appendage, dangling for ages before falling, sliding over the chest of the sinner. “Oh fuck.” James whispered, seeing, feeling a shift within the beast. Its hands moved to his torn wrists, shattering the metal cuffs embedding metal shards into the jagged cuts. A shriek of pain was torn from him as he was ripped from the hospital bed he had been bound to. The embrace of the monster only lasted seconds and once more James was thrown to the floor.





Stars of agonizing white danced within his vision as he tried to make his abused and fatigued body move. All that he could manage was a pitiful twitch. A deep rumbling laughter reverberated off the walls as hands pulled and prodded James, forcing him onto his hands and knees. His body was spotted with wounds and blotches of enraged violet. He felt his core shudder; the almost pleasure had evaporated, replaced with the numbing realization that he was powerless and in the hands of his own personal executioner. He tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming; the demon’s intent was painfully obvious when he heard the sound of leather flopping to the side. James clawed weakly, his nails scratching uselessly on the aged floor. “Please God please.” He whispered. “Don’t let this happen. Don’t let this be real.”





True damnation was not within the pain or even the truth of the deranged act of rape. No, the suffering of hell itself was in the waiting, begging for help from any power; God, Buda, Jesus, Satan. Yet with every passing second the chances for divine intervention whittled down to nothing. Beads of sweat ran down his face and sides and he drew slow even breaths trying to settle his racing heart. James’ world, his eternal waiting shattered and he screamed as his inner halls were breached by the demon. He was being ripped apart around the creature’s thickness. “Fuck.” James whimpered as the Red bastard held him in a vice like grip pressing into him.





The sinner’s broken mewling coupled with the velvet heat had the Fiend of Judgment tipping back his hooded head, howling out in pleasured victory. How he wanted to just shatter the other in the madness of his need, yet that would only encourage the Portal’s wretched behavior. The human was not one of the lesser nightmares to be treated as toys to be broken on just a whim. No, this man was greater by far a being to worship and torment, to fill each of his most hidden desires. One hand clutched quivering hips with force enough to leave a print of each of his fingers, while the other slid down trailing along the almost flaccid length.





“Don’t.” James cried out trying to face the demon, trying to beg for a touch that was purely punishing. He didn’t want to find any pleasure in the bastard’s brutal hands, he shouldn’t find the touches arousing, he shouldn’t be left breathless and feeling empty when the demon slid almost free of him. “Don’t.” He could feel the familiar heat beginning to spread within the pit of his stomach, as blood rushed down, stirring the rebellious organ once again into action. “Don’t.” The word came out a broken moan, as a wave of pleasure washed over him. He mewed when his hips bucked pressing back into the Red Pyramid taking the other as deep as he could. “St—STOP!” Yet the touch did not stop, the stroking turned into smooth jerking in time with each masterful thrust. “Don’t please.” The sound of his voice was strange even to his own ears as ecstasy and agony joined together in a vile tango of forced passion. Each stroke, every thrust stole away the world, the monster, and him in flashes of unknown color. “Don’t stop.” Whorish and wanton, the words mated and fell from lips bloodied by his own teeth.





Symphonies of helpless anguish held nothing in comparison to the shameful whimper of need, those two barely heard tearful words. The Portal was finally coming to understand. He let his tongue slide over the arched back leaving slick trails of saliva. The man James Sunderland belonged only to the forms he had birthed through his repression and desire. He was their fallen god, their sire, and brother in misery. He growled, feeling the sinner’s body shudder, growing closer to the knife’s edge of completion. The dexterous tip of the vile black tongue traced along the Portal’s left shoulder, broken lines and curves marking the sinner as his hot breath cascaded over the marred skin.





James moaned, tears running down his cheeks, his hair sodden with sweat and blood and plastered to his head as his chest heaved. “Don’t st—stop.” His hands curled, raking the floor, his nails breaking, ripping, bleeding. He screamed his everything, lost in a whorl of unspeakable nova, his seed spattering on the tile, his body growing impossibly tense in that moment, clamping down, holding the demon within long enough for the creature to deliver a few fast, hard thrusts that sent shivers of aftershocks through James. He whimpered as an odd warmth filled him, dribbling down his leg as the fiend pulled away leaving James spent. Without the hands or the thickness within he could no longer support his weight. Gracelessly he collapsed into the cooling puddles upon the floor.





When the demon grabbed an ankle he had nothing left to fight back with and he remained limp as the beast started to drag him deeper into the hell of Silent Hill.