Earth x BJT

Chapter One

(On Earth during the 1800s – Approx. the time of the Spanish Inquisition)

"Quickly! Find the witch!" A hard, voice cut through the still night air, the silver moonlight gilding the swamp with a pure light. The shadows of the swampy lands seemed to hinder their movement, as though it was protecting the life of the woman-child they were hunting.

"Can't you go any faster you buffoons? She can't be far away!" The man snarled, moving the people around like puppets. After decades of doing the directing, he had them running to do his bidding and jumping like scalded cats when he was angry.

Shivering with pain, fatigue and fear, the woman-child crept through the wetlands, a piece of thick leather clenched between her teeth to prevent any noise from escaping as she forced her brutalized feet to hold her weight. The soft ground was riddled with sharp pebbles and sticks, forcing her to move even slower despite the predicament she was in. Sucking in a breath of air sharply as a twig caught at her cheek she bent slightly, her light clothing already stiff with blood from the welts covering her back, arms and legs. She shifted and swore silently as she felt a multitude of the wounds open again, the cloth rubbeing over them. Suddenly all feeling left her legs and she collapsed less than gracefully into a heap at the base of a tree, tears leaking from her mismatched eyes and stinging the ragged wounds on her face and lips. The moon seemed to glimmer at her as she lifted her eyes to the heavens, words of prayer and supplication flowing from her lips.

'Please, Great Goddess. Protect your daughter, I beg of you.' She implored, lifting her arms above her in entreaty. The effort it took to raise her arms seemed to double as the strength that had held her up seeped away and she crumpled, like a feather before the storm. Wavering on the edge of unconsciousness, she felt a surge of power and warmth; hope rising in her as the sound of her pursuers grew closer. Strong arms picked her up and as the flood of pain swept her into the darkness, she heard a male voice rumble, "I've found her."

* * *

The blind hope in the girl's eyes was more than he could bear, and as he felt her slip into blessed unconsciousness Lucivar gently cradled her to his chest, knowing that he was going to have to cause her a little bit more pain before he could try and make it better. Her sigh of relief made him smile, but as he felt her temperature drop at an alarming rate as she went limp in his arms he swore profusely.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit! Daemon, can you put a warming spell on this blanket?" He asked quietly, acknowledging her unspoken fear of the men trying to find her.

"Of course, but we will have to wait another three minutes for the Gate to reopen. Jaenelle said that it was the best she could do under the circumstances." Daemon said, his voice seeming to calm the girl even further as what was left of the tension in her body drained away. Suddenly, the sound of an object crashing through the bush intruded on their attempt at saving the girl's life, and without hesitation, they prepared for the worst.

"Hey! You there! You found the witch!" A cruel voice observed excitedly, and a man stepped into the light, his unkempt clothing and bad personal hygiene making Lucivar and Daemon glad they were outside where the smell was dispersed by fresh air.

"Yes we did." Daemon agreed readily, crossing his arms as he evaluated the man with a glance. Sighing he ran a hand through his hair, the mussed look making him look as if he had just rolled out of bed; an effect which had a disconcerting effect on the man before him.

"Then hand her over. We will be able to continue this at the town hall." The brute continued a slight hesitation breaking his voice as he observed Daemon's beauty under the moonlight. Fear of the unknown men warred with lust as he drank in the sight in front of him.

"Continue? With what, pray tell?" Daemon asked, his voice a seductive combination of silk and velvet, his golden eyes almost glowing with latent cruelty as he crossed his arms and tapped his long, tinted nails against his sleeve.

"Her trial, punishment; and if she doesn't die before hand from torture, her execution." The man explained with exaggerated simplicity, as though they were simpletons, wondering if they were just playing dumb for sport.

"And what was her crime?" Lucivar growled, his eyes flashing icy fire as the clearing grew colder.

"She was found practicing witchcraft and mixing potions." The man said, turning to Lucivar and blinking in horror as the clouds shifted and revealed what had previously been hidden in shadows. Lucivar's wings.

"You're the witch's demon familiars come to tempt the righteous from the path of God, but I will not be swayed by your evil ways. Be gone with thee foul devils, in the name of Christ I compel you." The man cried, and they looked at each other sardonically as the man gaped at them in astonishment. Opening his mouth to scream, he didn't even see Lucivar swing his war blade. No sound left his lips as the cold steel slice through his neck, silently beheading him. Cleaning his blade on the man's shirt, Lucivar turned back to Daemon.

"This happened because she was practicing Craft?!" He whispered, outrage quickly turning to alarm as the girl began to turn a deathly pale. Shifting her to a more comfortable position, he strode forward towards the Gate and prayed to the Darkness Jaenelle had had enough time to prepare again.

The Gate sprang open with a soft command, and carrying their precious burden, they returned to their world, leaving behind a bloody present for Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder General.