Beelzebub

A Work of Fanfiction | Ralph x Jack

FailtoPale

Foreword: This work starts off near the end of the book where Ralph is hiding in a small, dirt hole away from the tribe that is pursuing him. The plot twists off from there, and these boys don't get rescued until a few years later, when the adult world around them has finished World War II and has discovered the island which they reside in. It's not really a sequel, it's more of an alternate universe, a "what if" kind of thing. Therefore, I will be quoting some of the book in the beginning.

Warnings: When I started planning this out, I felt a little weird shipping a bunch of teenagers or younger. However, the Mature rated stories on this site kinda gave me a sick, little boost (hooray!), but I'm still not going to dive into any smut anytime soon. They need to grow a little riper (and older, I think) before I begin any slash. Just saying. Therefore, the rescue is gonna be put off in this story. Anyways, I'm putting a warning here because it WILL contain some very inappropriate, slightly disturbing ways of acting out slash. There may be some cussing. Also, there's also the violence, insanity, and demonic suffering that is LOTF.

Warnings and prefaces aside, let the story begin!

The ululation spread from shore to shore. The savage knelt down by the edge of the thicket, and there were lights flickering in the forest behind him. You could see a knee disturb the mold. Now the other.

Two hands. A spear.

A face.

The savage peered into the obscurity beneath the thicket. You could tell that he saw light on this side and on that, but not in the middle-there. In the middle was a blob of dark and the savage wrinkled up his face, trying to decipher the darkness.

The seconds lengthened. Ralph was looking straight into the savage's eyes.

Don't scream.

You'll get back.

Now he's seen you. He's making sure. A stick sharpened.

Ralph nearly screamed; all his senses compelled him to.

Scream.

Scream for all your life. Run out. Break the line. But his body betrayed him, shaking, but rooted into the thicket.

For a moment the savage looked as if he recognized something, but before he could realize that the creature he saw was in fact Ralph, a clump of dirt stirred behind Ralph as a pig clawed past him in a squeal of pain with blood gushing out of a stab wound on its back. It plummeted straight into the savage's face as he stumbled backwards into a tree.

The savage, nearly frightened out of his wits, threw the pig off as a small group of littluns, distracted, broke the line and ran ravenously at the bleeding pig. The savage looked up to see Roger, who silently smiled as he jabbed his spear downwards into the thicket a few more times.

The pig had broken Ralph's fear spell and he began to think more clearly. He saw the spear forcefully thrust into the thicket a few times and decided to wait a little before he crawled into the space where the pig had come from. After nestling out of view, he saw the previous savage check the hole again before reforming the line with Roger and the littluns, who were unsuccessful with their hunt.

He watched them as their frail, nerve-wracked bodies disappeared further into the forest.

Time slowly ticked away as Ralph hid in his hole, hoping that they were far enough away. Even though the flies were filling his view and the ants were crawling on his skin, he didn't budge until he could no longer hear the ululations of the savages.

Slowly and silently, Ralph crawled out of the thicket, careful not to disturb anything or leave any trails. He hurriedly tiptoed in the opposite direction where the line was sweeping and soon found himself at the walls of the fort, the only structure on the island that wasn't shrouded in terrible flames. Yet it seemed that the crags on the fort themselves formed the shape of a flame, a large, dark flame that held the souls of the children, the biguns and the littluns, the sow, Piggy and Simon.

The fort was the last place Ralph wanted to be near, especially since the tribe was inevitably going to return there. He routed around it and found himself at a small clearing outside the forest, near the site that Simon was...accidentally murdered. There, the ground bore a stick sharpened at both ends with a bloodied tip, and a fleshy mess of blood and glistening brains strew around on the ground. Flies surrounded the remains of a pig's head, smothering the atmosphere with a loud, droning buzz.

A stick sharpened at both ends.

Sam and Eric.

It was a site of sacrifice, a place of offering to this beastie, a gift in exchange for peace. And the stick that jutted out of the ground had been cleared as a new throne for Ralph's head to rest.

The sight invoked a sudden shiver that tore through Ralph's body as all his muscles involuntarily clenched. He crumpled down to his knees as he lurched, spewing whatever was left in his empty stomach.

Whatever this was, this place told him how he was going to die.

He lied there face-first, semi-conscious for a while, and then climbed back onto his feet from the dirt patch he was lying on. He leaned on a tree, trying to clear the dark spots in his vision when-

"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"

He looked up in the direction the voices came from. It was that all too familiar rhythm again.

"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"

It was getting closer.

"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"

Closer.

"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"

Closer!

Ralph dashed past the stick in the ground, temporarily dispersing the cloud of flies as he neared the crags that Piggy had tumbled down on. Before he nearly followed the same fate, Ralph quickly stopped himself and fell backwards on his rear.

"Kill the pig! Slit her throat! Bash her in!"

In that flickering moment, Ralph only wanted to distance himself from the tribe. He only wanted to hide. To survive.

He tripped forward and brutally stumbled down the hill. The dry weeds and sharp pebbles tore up his skin as he yelped in bouts of both pain and surprise.

The only thing that prevented Ralph ending up like Piggy was his reaction. He quickly snared at a ledge, but it was slippery with something red. It broke his fall a little before he thumped down onto a hard slab of rock. There was the faint sensation of himself weakly climbing up to a higher ledge out of the water.

That was the last thing Ralph could remember for several hours.

Jack paced briskly in front, his face a scarlet red because he was empty-handed. The littluns behind him chanted in happy ignorance, carrying a freshly killed hog tied to a stake.

"Sucks to Ralph," he muttered bitterly.

That evening when the littluns were giggling and devouring their meat, Jack found himself wanting to go and find Ralph on his own. But there was the beastie lurking out at night, and wasn't as if he could see batshit in the dark.

Oh, right, the beastie.

Jack reached for his knife when he saw Roger already picking away at the carcass' neck. Roger gave him a cold but smiling glance as he hung the head on the sharpened stick. Jack scowled and looked around at the faces of the littluns, who were watching him in surprise.

"I swear, I'll kill him. Next time, I swear I will!"

Jack growled at them, throwing his knife to the ground and looking around for those who dared to challenge him. Roger nodded at him and spoke quietly.

"Yes. We will have his head."

That night, no one slept well except for Ralph, who was out cold.

Ralph woke up to the succulent smell of meat , and his mouth dribbled. The smell didn't last long, however, and slowly faded to the burnt aroma of a dying fire. He tried to pick his tired body up to a sitting position, but failed when an aching headache hit his sore head. So instead, he rolled over and tried to haul himself up by grabbing onto a ledge. His hand left a print, and he saw that the red stain was not his own, but Piggy's stale blood, most of which had washed away.

Lying there, it was at that moment Ralph could have sworn he lost his sanity.

The cold truth had hit him; the cold truth that he was alone, that he was powerless, that he was dying. It had been following him all along, and it had finally caught up to him. His wounded body shivered and spasmed as he curled into a tight ball and wept.

He wept for the loss of a true friend named Piggy.

He wept for the darkness of humanity's soul.

He wept for the purity that was forever gone.

And the skinny skeleton shook as it shed tears for the corpulent corpse.

Thanks for reading!

This chapter was actually a teaser for the fanfic; if it gains enough popularity I'll definitely start updating regularly.

So, if you liked this chapter so far, PLEASE review! Even one will get me off my lazy butt and start committing myself to this darn story. Whee-aa-oo! :D