A Love Long Lost
		- For FoxGold, his gift from Charnival, by Charn

Distantly, the sounds of screaming and the grinding of rides muddled with soulless, hungry organ music, pipes and chimes blending together to form an low, demonic charnal that simultaneously revulsed, and entranced. The Charnival was in town. And most of the town was at the Charnival.

But not everyone. There was a fox, here, in the front of this old, tired church. The wind, heavy with the scent of fear and exhilaration from the activities only a mile away, tugged and seethed through his heavy, blood silk robes. They flickered dismissively as the fox looked up at the grand ole church, silent and dark, nearly forgotten in the middle of all the activities. He knew, though, that it would be very, very busy, in only a short amount of time. As soon as the townsfolk - what remained of them, anyways - escaped the clutches of the mad butcher tiger, they would flee to the only salvation they knew.

Little did they know.

Scy strolled around the side of the church. Cute, rounded, gray little concrete and granite slabs poked out of the ground, over grown toenails that needed clipping. He stroked over one as he walked past, smelling the dark, dank earth, so ripe with the discarded dead. He walked deeper into the church’s quaint little cemetery. Deeper, past the little gravestones for the forgotten dead, past the large, overbearing crosses for the town’s proper. He paused at the huge, looming mausoleum - the town’s founders’ family, apparently - and stopped at one black slate gravestone. The letters were gone, eroded with time. Nobody likely knew who this was, or what they had done in their life.

	They would remember tonight, though.

    Scy reached into his red robes, his paw sliding briefly over his belly, the fox sliding his fingers down, down until he found the rounded, bulging hilt of his dagger. He unsheathed it, slowly, pulling it out into the open as he crouched down in front of the gravestone.

    The words Scy murmured were not English. They weren’t really Any language, actually. They couldn’t even be considered growls, really, They were something dark and ancient, muttering from the fox’s mouth and nose, his tail flicking back and forth as he chanted the archaic ritual. His tail flicked back, forth, back and forth, the gray furred appendage seeming to blur, seeming to flick in two directions at once. And then in three.

He grasped that smooth, sharp dagger with both paws, aiming it down between his legs, feeling the spike of power bubble up from the ground and through his body, churning in his groin, his belly, his heart. When the tingling ticklish power reached between his tip-pointed ears, the fox’s tail seemed to be in nine places at once, a literal monstrous vision, as if he had nine furious tails flicking and flapping behind him

    He shouted the name, then, the name he dared not say otherwise, prayed for it and drove the dagger down. Into the soft, yielding earth, sliding smooth and sweet into the grass and topsoil, he penetrated the earth. Hunched and clenched, forcing that power down through that blade and into the soil, and dark shadowy tendrils arched out from that penetrating dagger, in every direction. One by one, those phantom tails seemed to disappear, and with each one, another shadow flitted out from the fox’s dagger and towards another grave. He grunted with each pulse, feeling the power and energy drain out into the ground, feeling it throb and ebb until he had planted every last blast into the waiting cemetery.

    Scy stood on shaky legs, turning back to the church. As he did, all around him, gravestones began to shift and wobble. Arms reached and clutched, crawling their way up and out of the earth. He grinned as they rose around him. The bodies would surely be skeletons, but they were cloaked in dark, shadowy flesh, taking on the forms of their previous lives. A raccoon , a wolf , a smooth skinned ork. A big shaggy pony, a tall, lean wolf, an otter, and more. They stood, watching, waiting as the fox smiled to himself. It had been - like every other spell he had cast - a total success.

    “Go, my children. Go, out, and Feast.” There was no sound - no demented groans of hunger, no growls of compliance. No cracking or creaking of ancient bones and tendons. Not even the sound of the ground hissing under their infernal feet. They left, though, spreading out into the surrounding town, bringing the thrills of the dark Charnival closer to home for the revelling villagers. All except one.
	
    Scy stopped the raccoon. The raccoon was at one point a male, a rather pudgy, thick tailed, long fingered thing. It stared at him, it’s dark shadowed face inscrutable, a hollow being without any real features. There was nothing there to make it more than a shadow, but what a shadow it was. Solid, static, semi opaque, and dangerous.. Scy searched it, looking for that thing, the thing that would mean he had found what he was looking for. Searching, and failing. He sighed. It wasn’t him. “Go.”

    The fox’s heart thudded with the mixture of elation and despair that struggled for dominance inside him. He stalked away from the ghost of the raccoon, and into the middle of the church. It was empty, of course - the priests were always the first to disappear when the Charnival arrived. Well, the priests, and the football team. Odd, that.

He wiped the dagger off on the red velvet lining of the altar at the head of the church, cleaning the grime of the earth off. Then, rather casually, he began to wreck the place.
He flicked the dagger towards the stain glass, which began to bleed and seep, blood pouring out of the paint, seeping down over the walls. He gestured to the pews, which burst into smoldering green flames. The holy water curdled with bloated white maggots. It was all very terrifying and horrific, and So, SO overdone. Scy yawned and wandered into the rectory, bored. This was the exact same thing he had done to fifteen other towns, and it was losing it’s excitement.

The rectory was odd, though. there was a certain energy to it. It wasn’t purity, no, nothing like that. It was trembling with something as if the room itself was straining to even exist. Was it a trap? Scy was curious, as even the most demonic of traps meant nothing against his powerful onslaughts.

He stepped into the room, in which a large, solid steel chair was erected. the energy, whatever it was, seemed to be emanating from that. He removed his robe, hanging it on a nearby hook. He was a sleek and handsome fox, in his dark way. His belly was tight beneath his rib cage, his arms sleek and slender and long. His tail the thickest, bushiest part of him. All over his handsome frame remained the undercurrent, the Accent of hunger, of pestilence, of death. A golem of flesh, stitched together with the threads of loss.

He twirled his dagger between his fingers, spinning it and catching, a twirling ripple of mutilation waiting for a target. He stepped over to the chair, and turning around, sat down on the metal seat.
It was a surprising jolt - like electricity - that convulsed up through his backside. The dagger FLEW from between his fingers, launched through the air to the figure in the doorway. Who - against all odds, and in stereotypical awesomesauce fashion, caught it between two fingers, like a lit cigarette. The door closed behind this awesomesauceman, who grinned, looming down to the fox who remained, seemingly trapped, on the chair.
“Hello, Scy. It’s time for this madness to stop.”
“Seth! But... But!”
“No, don’t talk. Just watch.” The fox - who, while much lighter furred,  had the exact same red tip of red at the end of his tail - stepped into the room, and the door slammed shut - completely on it’s own - behind him. SLAM! All on it’s own - or so it would seem. So it would seem.
Scy went to respond, but he couldn’t seem to find anything to say. This was exactly why he avoided Seth in the first place. His older brother was always just so damned intimidating.

“You’ve been abusing your powers, Scy.” the white fox intoned, now twirling the dark fox’s dagger around in his palm. There was a rumbling, a shifting, a slithering under the surface of the church. No. not the church, under Everything, as something that couldn’t be felt tore loose of it’s tetherings. Even as the entranced dark fox watched, the room seemed to shift. Falling but standing still, his inner ears twisting as his sense of balance spazzed out.
The fox in front of him was shrinking. His tail was unbushing, his height diminishing.
Scy pushed himself up from the seat, and realized as he went to put his feet on the ground, that they didn’t reach. As he watched, his legs shortened. He could feel crackling sensations inside him, as organs fluttered, bones shifting, contracting, shrinking.
“Seth, what are you doing??” his voice raising in pitch, growing higher and higher. He glanced down, in shock, hands clasping at his genitals, which had tightened tighter and closer to his groin, shrinking some in the process. “Noooo! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”
The white fox, who had been shrinking, contracting along with his dark furred brother, and in the time it took him to circle once around that ever looming metal chair, both of the foxes had gone from battlescarred, fully grown, adult foxes, to cute, big nosed, floppy eared foxlings.
“Scy! No Fair! You’re CHEATING!”
“Am not! This is totally in the rules! You’re eight years old, and do you know what THAT means?”
Scy scrabbled to the back of the chair, his paws regrabbing at his cute little foxballs. “My nuts! I, I have to go through puberty again! Oooooh NOOOOOOO!”
“That’s right, and since you haven’t hit puberty, it means you’re not making any magical juices, doesn’t it?”
Scy’s ears folded back, his disproportionately large foxkit eyes quavering as he nodded. “Yes, it means I don’t have any magical powers now...” Inside, his mind raced. Sure, he didn’t have them -now-, but in a couple years, he would be grown up again, and he would TOTALLY get Seth back for this! How embarassing!
“Not now, and not later. You’ve really gone too far, Scy. You’re an embarassment to us mages. You can’t just go around humping parcels of land and raiding towns with sex-nymphs. It’s just, it’s not only a breach of the magician’s creed, it’s unclassy.”
“You don’t understand, Seth. I’ve been doing all of this for a reason. I know that, I know that I’m going to find him. I went to the Charnival. There was a gypsy there. Before I consumed her soul, she told me that my life lines were tied to that of the Charnival. And Tommie was my life. So I -have- to keep looking for him. I know I’m going to find him!”
“Well the line ends here, and since he’s not in this room? I guess that means he is gone. You’re just going to have to deal with it. Or look for him... without destroying entire communities in the process. Or without your balls.”
Scy Gasped! “With.. without my balls, what do you mean??”
Seth pushed the kit’s legs apart, standing between them, grinning down to the dark kit. While Scy had regressed to eight or so, Seth was still a few years older, and his sheath was thick with his fully developed foxcock.
It was a cute blue  thing, peeking out, saying hi to the smaller wolf, and Scy blushed as he stared at his brother’s prong. It had been, what, fifteen, twenty years since he had last seen his brother naked, and all those feelings of admiration and love for his older brother came back to him. Seth was so much cooler than him, so tall and confident and easy to get along with. The fact that Setch had become a famous magician later on just burned in Scy’s heart the combination of jealousy and admiration he had for his brother.
“Good boy, I see you are getting hard too. That will make this a lot easier. Now hold onto the arms of the chair.”
Scy did so, spreading his legs for his brother, and watching as the white fox paw slipped down and curled under his cute, plump little kitpouch. They were warm, strong fingers, and he couldn’t help but yip as he felt himself handled so openly. Sure he was only eight, but ten minutes ago he had been a fully mature fox male, and he had not had someone handle him in that way for... okay so it had only been since earlier that afternoon, but he was a fox, and that meant FOREVER. His cute little foxdick popped out like a turkey thermometer,
“They’re still pretty big.. for a kindergartner,” Seth quipped, chuckling as he brought the darkfox’s own dagger down. That narrow tip pushed into the center of his sac, and Seth slowly, playfully dragged it down, like he was tracing a line. A smear of red drooled out behind it, a slugtrail of blood. Then he pulled the blade away, turned it over, and brought it up underneath Scy’s little nuggets, worming the tip of it further and further up underneath that soft fuzzy pouch. the two walnuts hung on either side, the blade visibly pushing up between them, the scrotum taut over the edge of the blade.
“I’m not a... a ... a kindergartner. I could kill you! Rip your soul... right out of your puny mortal coil!”
“Yes, you could. Could. But you can’t, now, can you? All you can do is watch, while I pull up on this knife.” Seth pushed two fingers down, speading them and pushing on each nut, pushing gently downwards. The balls slid further down either side of dagger, and the blade appeared - magically - through the skin under which it hid, the scrotum slithering to either side, cleanly bisected.
“Oh, look what I found. Foxnuts.” Seth giggled, and grabbed the scrotum on the left half, pulling it away from the rounded pearl hiding underneath. “This one looks ripe.” He took it, holding and pulling it as Scy watched. By now both foxes dicks were pointing at each other, angry magic wands of foxiness, one blue, one pink. While seth’s was longer, and thicker, and probably  much better at pleasing bitchvixens (theoretically, at least), Scy’s had the unique strength of being rock hard even as his scrotum was bisected. That’s endurance.
“This shouldn’t take long. Foxes were made to be made into cute little sex toys, you know,” the older fox casually commented. The dagger slid under the bundle of cords, close to the base, and with an easy, casual grace... he pulled up. The cords resisted, and Scy could feel his groin tug with the tension, the tight little bundle of nerves and veins and ducts resisting the unyielding blade of the knife.
Shlip!

They didn’t resist hard enough, apparently, for the blade popped through them, a splatter of juice clinging to the fur in Scy’s belly as they are separated.
“My ball!” he exclaimed, feeling like a baby, having nothing smarter or cleverer to respond to being half castrated. Seth was always better at that sort of thing, anyways, though.
“Yes it is. Here.” The white fox handed it to the gray fox. “If you are lucky, maybe there’s still some sperm wiggling around in there - though I doubt it.”
Scy took it in his paw, feeling the warm, slick nugget wiggle slightly, as if still trying to resist it’s fate. ‘Sucks to be you’, he though, and then popped the tube that dangled from it into his mouth. He suckled on it, draining the nut like a Caprisun, the salty sweet boyjuices spilling against his tongue. He watched, holding his nut, wide eyed as Seth went back for his second one.
“You’re taking this remarkably well.” Seth said, the dagger softly sawing through the remaining cords that made Scy a male. “I mean, I’m cutting off your balls. Your nuts. You’re not going to have any super powers, after this. You won’t even be able to pee standing up.” He chuckld again. “Then again, it doesn’t look like you’re that good at peeing sitting down, either. Bad kit, making a mess of yourself. You’re in a church, you know!”
Scy looked down at himself, mortified. He hadn’t even noticed, but he had wetted himself, peeing all over his belly, his thighs, the chair. He clutched his little juice pack even tighter, not able to think of anything to say in his defense. He was a bad kit.
“That settles that, if you don’t know how to use your weiner,” Seth said, drolly, as he lifted Scy’s second severed nut and stuffed a cord in HIS mouth, chewing on it like a bit of chaw. “You’re just gonna have to lose that, too. You’re such a Baby.” He shook his head, not scornfully, but in a, ‘what am I gonna do with you’ kind of way. “That’s okay, though. I still wub you, yes I do.”
Scy looked up with his horrendously adorable red eyes, staring at the cool, commanding blue eyes of his big brother. “I wub you too, Seth.”
    “I know. You’re a good boy, underneath it all. You just aren’t supposed to have all those maleparts, they make you a monster. Tsk, tsk.” The older fox took the gray fox’s sleek pink penis in his paw, grimacing slightly at all the sticky urine on it. He Bent it up, against the defeated necromancer’s belly, pushing the tip against the soft, wet fur there. The tip of the dagger waggled back and forth between Scy’s eyes, before dipping down.
    The tip of the blade pushed into the soft pink flesh, about at the middle, piercing inwards. Slowly, firmly edging until the tip scraped against bone. Scy whimpered. Slurped at his cord, watching as his brother savaged his shaft. The knife edged downwards, slowly, towards that puffed out knot, and the gray fox’s older brother sang a little ditty as he cut that dick slowly open.
    “One two, left nut’s for you. Four, three, right nut’s for me. Five six, gonna cut up dicks. Seven eight... No homo, no hate. There!” A gleaming white stripe of bone was bared along the pink shaft, between the ‘lips’ that the knife had carved into Scy’s dick. The tip of that blade went to the root, past the knot, on the other side, where the cock was more slender. Now he bent Scy’s shaft downwards, and began to circle the tip of that scalpel-sharp blade around.
    Scy twitched, a few last droplets of pilfered boy juice coating his tongue as his brother surgically excised his pink cockmeat from his baculum. when he had seperated the tough cockflesh from the rest of Scy’s groin, he began to pull. The meat resisted at first, sticking to the long, slender baculum. Then, slowly, and with a long, squelchintg, tearing, wet sound, it came free. Peeling away from that gleaming bone, the whole plump fistfull of Scy-dick just twitching in Seth’s paw.
	“There we go. All better now. The only thing left to do is to get you all clean and proper, and send you on your way.”
    How did Seth plan on cleaning Scy up, exactly? The answer came in the form of crinkles. Seth pulled a small white parcel from underneath the chair. Slowly he unfolded it, opening it up. Scy could smell the soft white powdery scent. His ears folded as he recognized the pail blue ruffle that lined it.
	“You.. want me to.. wear that?”
	Seth nodded. “Are you a big enough boy to wear a diaper? Or do you have to stay in a crib until you are?”
	Scy whined. “No, I’m.. I’m a big boy. I can... wear the diaper.”
	“Well, you’re a big -it-, actually. Boys have marbles, not tatters. Now come on, legs in the air.”
    Scy pulled his legs up, watching as the fully unfolded diaper was brought closer. The soft fabric tickled against his buttocks, his taint. It folded up over his mangled flesh of his groin, hiding it from view. The other end was tucked up behind his rump. He held his legs as his older brother slowly folded the plastic tabs over the waistband, sealing it on. He let his legs down, and the plastic made soft crackling noises as it brushed against it.
    “There we go. Are you ready to go back outside, now?” Seth held his hand out to his little brother. With a shakey paw, Scy took it.
    Seth helped his brother down off of the chair, and together, they opened the door. The church had been all cleaned up at some point - no burning pews, no yogurt holy water, no bleeding walls. The stained glass gleamed with morning light. It was a new day.
	Scy didn’t question any of this as they walked to the front of the church, and Seth pushed open the door.
	“I thought you came back here for another reason, Scy. Didn’t you even see where you were?”
	Scy blinked at the bright light as his brother talked quietly beside him.
    “You don’t recognize the chuch, do you. You were so fixated on your loss, that you didn’t pay attention to where your loss had lead you. Welcome back, Scy.”
    Scy could see the town that he was in again. His heart clenched in agony. He was back home. Back in the village he had grown up in. There was the orphanage. There was the police station. There was Old Lady Cootervag’s house, which... which had burned down, twelve years ago. But it was there, still standing.
	“I... what... wait.... what does this...”

    “That’s right. You didn’t just get younger, Scy. We went back in time. We’re back to the day before it all happened. While you were out trying to find a way to bring your love back to you, I’ve spent all this time, trying to find a way to bring You... back to HIM.”
    Someone in a nearby house was playing a piano, and someone else the violin, and now both of those musical refrains swelled and bulged into glorious melancholy harmony as Scy watched a small, and very familiar looking, figure come around the corner of the old stone wall. It was Tommy.  Tommy!

	“TOOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”

    Scy waddled as fast as his eunuch diaper swaddled legs would take him down the grassy slope to his only true love, as Seth watched on from the church doorway. He watched as his brother reunited with his love, the two kits, one a slender fox, the other a chubby raccoon, hugged. And just like that, the decades of torments were forgotten. Scy was just a kid again, and the two best buddies, this time FOREVER, pranced off to play and dance and live the lives they both deserved to have.
    Maybe, just maybe, if Scy behaved, Seth would find it in his heart to let the fox grow his bits back. It might actually be kind of fun.

	And they all lived happily ever after!
.....Except for the football team.

- All characters (c) their respective owners