2.18.11- I do not own Nightbreed, it's wonderful characters, or the lovely Midian. They belong to Clive Barker. The plot, of course, is mine.
1. A Life Saved
It was close. It had to be. Whatever it was. The power that had been calling to him for months now, invading his dreams, putting in them images of tombs, an underground place, and most frightening and yet beautiful at the same time, a dark idol surrounded by lightning.
Yes, he had to be much closer now, because the pull that had brought him this far was stronger, the voice in his head that he could never make out the words to seeming clearer.
He'd traveled many, many miles to get to where he was now, in search of this power, this pull, this place that called to him, the place whose name was a whisper in his dreams…Midian. It had brought him from his homeland to this strange woods, where he was lost, hungry, and exhausted.
It would be dawn in a few hours, and so far he had no idea where he could find shelter. He'd thought for sure, from the feeling in his gut, that he would have reached this mysterious place called Midian tonight, so he could stop moving, stop running.
Finding a fallen log, Kinski sat down, sighing heavily at the relief it gave to his sore muscles. He was so tired. And hungry. But he was too tired to hunt, and he hadn't just happened upon an animal of any kind in two days.
Closing his eyes to ease the burning in them, he propped his elbow up on his knee and rested his head against his hand. He just needed a few moments to relax, then he'd get going again. Just a few moments…
Kinski hadn't even known he'd drifted off until he awoke with a start. Lifting his head, trying to blink out the sleepiness from his eyes, he looked around, wondering what had woken him.
There it was again, a snapping sound. A twig breaking, very close. Kinski didn't have the time to look for the direction of it, however, before a voice from behind made him jump.
"Well, lookie what we got here, boys."
Kinski tried to remain calm, as even when the voice behind him laughed, four men came out of the shadows of the trees on each side of him, all carrying guns.
"I'll be…," One of them said, sounding amused and astonished at once, "It's one of them freaks my grandpa told stories about."
"Looks like we found something much better than some bear," Another said.
Kinski heard the sound of a gun cocking right behind him. The others were drawing in closer, the same cruel look on each of their faces.
He was outnumbered. He knew he probably would never make it to this mysterious place now, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't at least go down without a fight.
The barrel of the gun behind him touched the back of his neck, and the owner of the weapon told him, "Get up, freak!"
So be it. Drawing in a steadying breath, Kinski moved. All in one motion he reached for the big curved knife kept under his vest, stood, and spun around to throw aside the shotgun barrel with his arm as the knife slashed through the man's throat, the weapon firing into the trees overhead.
As the blood sprayed everywhere, there was a shout from one of the other men, then all at once they rushed him.
xx xx
Peloquin froze. The sound of a shotgun blast still rung through the night air for a moment, then was gone.
With his exceptional hearing, it wasn't hard for him to locate the direction from which the sound had come from, and as he stood there waiting, another blast of gunfire echoed through the hill sides.
A second later, the wind blowing his way brought with it the smell of blood. Human blood…but there was also another kind.
Breed blood.
For Peloquin, there was no thinking about it. Lifting his head and sniffing the air, he caught the scent, then took off in it's direction at a dead run.
It didn't take long for Peloquin to reach the source. The smell of blood and shouting voices were easy enough to follow.
Stopping behind a tree, Peloquin peered around it to see what all the fuss was about.
A group of men, of Naturals, stood in a small circle. Some held long rifles or shotguns, some had thick tree limbs in their hands. All were using them as clubs, swinging down over and over onto a figure laying huddled on the ground in the middle of them.
A few feet away from the group a body lay motionless, throat slashed open, blood pooling in the grass and dead leaves, but Peloquin paid little attention to it.
It was the man on the ground amongst the posse that Peloquin stared at. Not just any man. His face was in the shape of a crescent moon. He was a Breed.
Because he was Breed, these Naturals were tormenting him. Beating, kicking, and clubbing him. And they wouldn't stop until he was dead.
A deep growl rumbled low in Peloquin's chest, and he felt the Beast rising to the surface with the wave of pure rage that overtook his senses.
It was then, maybe sensing his presence or just by shear happenstance, the fallen Breed looked up from under his arms, brought up to shield his head the best he could as the blows continuously landed, peering through the legs of his attackers.
That was when their eyes met and locked. The Breed's eyes were full of pain, of weariness, and of death. He was nearly done for, and with those dying eyes he was pleading for help. Peloquin's help.
And that was all it took.
The anger Peloquin had felt was enhanced, seeing those eyes, and with a roar of fury, he let the gloriousness of the Beast explode from within. The transforming vapors he exhaled trailed behind him in the air as he moved, his appearance changing in a matter of seconds.
Bursting out of the shadows, he attacked, running at the group before they even had a chance to turn at the sound of his roar.
Peloquin took out the closest of the four men first. Using his momentum to punch his fist into the man's lower back, his sharp claws easily digging in so he could grab the spinal cord, and with a savage jerk he ripped it right out of the flesh and muscle holding it in place, all the way up to the back of the skull.
The Natural fell with an unfinished horrible scream on his lips.
"Holy shi-!," One of the other three began, turning just in time for Peloquin's blood-covered claws to find his bottom jaw and tear it off, silencing him permanently. He, too, fell to the ground, gurgling, tongue hanging loose against his throat like a bad necktie.
There was the sound of a gunshot, followed by a twinge of pain in his left thigh as the bullet lodged itself against the bone. The gun fired by one of the other two men who were now well aware of his presence.
The pain was nothing, but the fresh wave of rage that it induced was enough to draw out another frightening roar from him as he lunged forward at the third, who was so surprised at the very image of Peloquin's rage that he stumbled backward, tripping over his newly-spineless friend. He fought to stay upright, but the move was still his undoing. Peloquin, closing the gap in a single heartbeat, plunged his claws deep into the man's chest and tore out his heart.
The muscle was still beating when Peloquin dropped it at his feet, now turning around to face the fourth, the last, who was so terrified that his trembling hands were having difficulty finding the trigger on the rifle he was trying desperately to lift and aim.
"Oh, fuck, oh shit, oh fuck…,"
Those would be the Natural's final words. Taking quick advantage of the man's hesitation, Peloquin rushed at him next.
The young man in a last attempt lifted the rifle to aim and fire, but Peloquin knocked it aside, then tackled him to the ground, teeth at his throat.
The man started to scream. And then Peloquin's sharp teeth cut it off, crushing the windpipe and ripping it open. The flesh was tender and salty, the blood that poured forth into his waiting mouth was hot and sweet, all of which earned a shuddering groan of primal ecstasy from deep within Peloquin's chest.
The Beast feeding on its favorite dish. Human meat. Nothing sweeter than that to satiate his hunger. The body beneath him twitching and writhing for escape that wouldn't come, until it would finally stop.
Peloquin did not feed long. Indeed he would have devoured the whole thing if he'd had the time.
But a sound caught his attention, even from deep in his blood lusted state. A weak cough, the sound filled with pain, from just feet away.
Exhaling a spray of blood over the dead man's still face, Peloquin lifted his head from the ravaged throat, and looked at the Breed man laying close by. Laying so still, chest barely rising, fading away as Peloquin indulged himself in his meal.
Another cough, wet and much weaker, and Peloquin tore himself away from the flesh and blood to move over to the wounded Breed.
Leaning over him, Peloquin looked to assess the damage. There were many cuts, and deep bruising already starting to show on his skin, from the makeshift clubs striking him over and over.
The worst of the wounds, though, was from a bullet having imbedded itself deep in the chest, just to the right and an inch away from the heart. It was pure luck if it hadn't hit an artery or even a lung.
Nevertheless, it would be the wound that killed him, if help wasn't gotten for it soon. And judging by the sound of his shallow breathing, it needed to be gotten faster than that.
Peloquin reached up to touch the Breed's shoulder, hoping for some response.
The man's eyes opened, if only a crack, and looked up at him through swollen lids.
Death was approaching in those eyes. Peloquin knew the look of it all too well. It might already be too late. Maybe he should just leave…
The dying Breed, perhaps seeing this thought in his savior's eyes, lifted his hand just then, and his trembling fingers touched Peloquin's cheek.
"….please…," A single word whispered, softer than the rustle of leaves against dirt, but Peloquin heard it loud and clear, saw the emotion in the dying eyes, and felt the effect it had on his normally hardened heart.
Moving his hand from the shoulder to touch the back of the hand at his face, Peloquin leaned down then, sliding his arms under the Breed's body, and picked him up to lay across his own shoulders, one hand holding his arm, the other on his legs to steady him there.
Standing, he didn't wait any longer. Dawn would come in just a couple of hours, and Midian was still miles away.
Taking off in the same direction he had come from, Peloquin easily ignored the pain in his leg, the limp that would slow him down, and moved at as fast of a jog as he could manage with the extra weight.
xx xx
There was the softest light in the sky by the time Peloquin reached the edge of the woods that surrounded his destination, the sun just beginning to peak over the edge of the world.
Although the suns rays were still unseen, those that were overly sensitive to them could still feel their heat, the dim light still bothering the eyes that were meant for the dark. Peloquin felt the effect of those deadly rays, and knew he had to hurry.
Wasting no more time, he left the cover of the trees to move quickly across the open field of tall grass, and he reached the gates within moments. Slipping through them he headed straight to one of the many small stone buildings that he knew would lead him underground.
Once inside the crypt, he took a moment to catch his breath, a feeling of relief washing over him with the safety the roof provided from the approaching sunlight.
He shifted the weight of the wounded Breed on his shoulders. The man was still breathing, if only barely, but he had made the trip.
Maneuvering around the sarcophagus, he headed to the back wall, pushing it open with his shoulder.
Then, Peloquin descended the stairs down into Midian.