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Cal'trum was a release.

It was as simple as that. Powdered cal'trum root was about as close as a hunter ever got to heaven, or hell, or sex.

Samael sighed as he leaned back, a bowl of silvery blue powder in one hand, and a silver knife in the other; leaned back against the silken cushions in the back room of Penta's. Daniel was somewhere else, looking around, escorted by someone just like Samael had asked. Everything was taken care of.

"Hurts like fuck..." Samael whispered to himself as he leaned back against blue and red and violet pillows, as he set the bowl beside him, as he pushed back the sleeve of his shirt to expose a white fleshed arm. "But it's sweeter than sex."

He rarely used cal'trum, really. It was an indulgence, an addiction, that he preferred to disassociate himself from. But all hunters, at some point, used cal'trum as an escape from the hardships of the hunt, from the pain that life became, after so many years of slow death, both spiritual and emotional death. It was a hallucinogen, a strangely depressive stimulant, in one, and hunters used it for their only truly allowable escape. But it was highly addictive, and regular use brought desire for more, and more.... And Samael would never allow himself to become so weak.

He winced as he laid the knife blade to his arm, just at the elbow, and pressed in slightly, drawing the blade across the vein gently, just enough, just enough to nick, to bring forth black blood in a tiny stream. Coat the blade, that was the first step, coat the blade with one's own blood.

Black, always meaning he was not human, that nothing related to humanity flowed within his veins. Who cared? Who cared? He did, sometimes, but cal'trum took that care away.

"...Hurts like fuck." Samael whispered, as he lowered the bloodied blade into the bowl, allowing the powder to settle on the blood, to mingle with it. "But it's sweeter than sex." That was the second step, to provide the means to get the drug.

"...Hurts..." Samael hissed softly, as he raised the blade to his arm once again, and pressed the blade to his flesh once more, above the cut he'd previously made, and pressed the powder-laden blade in firmly, into vein, releasing the drug into his bloodstream. "Ahh...!" And it did hurt; cal'trum burned the flesh, or so it seemed, when it first touched the wound. It burned as it went through the body, it burned like fire. "Hurts like fuck!" Samael whimpered softly, eyes fluttering closed as he repeated the process, gathering more powder onto the now sticky blade, and pressing it into the second wound once again. Oh, it hurt, how it hurt!

But at last, the fourth or fifth time he did it, the first waves of dizziness struck him, and slowly, his hand bearing the knife lowered, finally clattering limply to the ground, onto one of the pillows. He closed his eyes, as the firey cal'trum sped through his veins with every heartbeat. It hurt, oh it hurt.... But when there came the explosion of color behind his closed eye lids, the pain was all worth it. When he opened his eyes, to see the ceiling above him explode in a thousand different colors, in a thousand different dimensions of being, it was all worth it. The silken pillows beneath him, he could feel every fiber, every stitch, and they all sang to him, in his head, everything was made of sight, sound, touch, and taste.

He could taste the colors, as he saw them. Vibrant red, cool green, deep blue, rich purple... so beautiful, so incredible....

And he could feel his cares receding; who needed them now? Now was the time to escape, now was the time to abandon the body, to just simply float, to be, to feel, touch, taste....

He moaned softly as his hallucinations soared to new heights, as every sensation became amplified ten thousand times. The blood dripping from his arm, he felt every movement, and while it hurt, it was oddly exciting at the same time. The fire in his veins... pain, yes, but did not passion also possess fire? Pain and pleasure intermingled, and became one in a dizzying swirl.... The silk beneath his body, smooth and cool, as sensual as a lover's touch, it called to him as well, adding to that dizzying feel....

He could feel his body awaken, himself aroused and lustful, but to move would have meant disturbing these lovely feelings, and so he simply lay, unmoving, moaning softly in the throes of his visions. Oh, it was a delight, to abandon everything....

But at last, pleasure reached its peak, and Samael cried out softly as his world exploded into a thousand shards of color, sound, touch, taste.... Everything was a haze, a dizzying haze, and oh, how it felt.... Sorrow mattered not, pain mattered not, and regret was a myth....

Samael jerked slightly as he opened his eyes, aware that he was himself again, that the cal'trum hallucinations were over. Damn, they always ended too quickly for his tastes. People told him, often, that he used too much; that five blades full of cal'trum were to blame for it ending so quickly, but he'd beg to differ there. Five made it all the more interesting.

He sat up slowly, feeling disgusted with himself, with his body, and slightly ashamed. Good thing that he'd brought a change of pants, as he always needed them after using cal'trum; like a teenage boy in the throes of a delightful dream, Samael always came when he used cal'trum. Oh well, whatever you needed go get you off, right?

"...Hurts like hell..." Samael sighed, as he managed to sit up entirely, his head throbbing, muscles aching, his cuts still burning with remnants of fire. "And I can't tell if it's better than sex... but it works for me."

And so, he stood, looked for the basin of water and the cloths that Penta always left for him, and set to cleaning up his mess. The boy would be none the wiser, of course, and Samael preferred it that way. After all, cal'trum was an addiction, and who was Samael to say he himself was entirely immune?