Hunted and Hated
An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own X-Men Evolution.
(Disclaimer: Let me set the record straight right now… I have NOTHING against the Catholic Church or its followers. The use of the Inquisition in this story is purely for entertainment value, and is in no way, shape or form a statement of political or religious opinion. One more thing: in this AU fic, Kurt retains his appearance but lacks teleportation; Kitty has been reinvented as a normal human.)
Chapter 1: A Narrow Escape!
"If there is a God, whence proceed so many evils? If there is no God, whence cometh any good?" -Boethius
Our story begins in the Zaragoza Province of what is now Aragon, Spain, in the year 1573…
Pant. Pant. Pant.
A shadowy, bizarre-looking figure gasped for breath as it hurtled down the cobblestone streets. Its mind was racing with panic and fear, and it turned onto a narrower road in a vain attempt to escape its pursuers. Only mere yards away, a crossbow made a loud twang as it discharged its deadly bolt, and the fugitive gasped as the metal embedded itself in a barrel where his head had been only seconds before. The cries and shouts of the angry citizens sent pangs of hurt and despair shooting through its heart like a volley of arrows, and he could hear, quite clearly, the threats and insults that they threw his way.
"He went that way!"
"That unholy creature won't escape us this time!"
"Have your swords at the ready, men! The Demon will be sent back to Hell before this night is done!"
"Get him!"
"Kill him!"
A sob escaped the runaway's lips, and for a brief instant, white fangs were visible in the soft moonlight. His three-fingered hands shoved barrels and crates from their pedestals as he continued to flee, the purpose of which was to slow down his inexorable foes, the men who had hunted him from the coast of Portugal to Zaragoza, where he was now. These were the same fanatics that desired his death at the hands of the Church, nothing more, nothing less.
Kurt Wagner was on the run from the forces of the Spanish Inquisition.
For months now they had hounded him, silently stalking the young mutant like deadly shadows, stirring up angry mobs and crazed villagers in an ever more desperate attempt to catch him. Wherever the Kurt went, wherever he had tried to hide, the squads of the Inquisition were never far behind. Now, after months of pursuit, weak from almost constant fleeing and malnourished from want of food, Kurt felt the jaws of the Church begin to close around him. I should have gone towards the Northern coast, he thought. I could have stowed away on a ship and be gone by now.
It did not matter that he had never tried to hurt anyone. Nor did it matter that he never caused harm to those who desired his death. No, the only proof the Inquisition needed was his demonic appearance; if he looked like an agent of Lucifer, then Kurt had to be one. If he was caught, his trial would probably last inside of ten minutes before he screamed his last at the stake.
Kurt stumbled over an inconveniently placed water jug, no doubt left in his path hours earlier by a forgetful housewife. The clay vessel shattered as the mutant fought to regain his balance, and the loud noise only served to let his pursuers know that they were closing in. The smartly clad soldiers of the Inquisition thundered down the alley after him, followed by a veritable horde of Zaragoza's angry citizens, who had been inflamed with hate and bigotry by the Inquisition's propaganda against poor Kurt. In a scene worthy of Frankenstein, the large group brandished an assortment of weaponry in the air: pitchforks, swords, and other weapons cast eerie shadows in the torches' glow, and Kurt felt his heart beat faster in his furry chest.
Twang.
Something sharp lodged itself in Kurt's shoulder, and a fine spray of blood heralded his injury. Another deadly piece of crossbow ammunition protruded from his back, and it was only with Herculean effort that Kurt kept from crying out in pain.
Twang.
The mutant staggered again, hit by a second well-placed shot, the cold metal shredding flesh and tissue as it drove deep into his hip. Dripping blood and fighting to stay conscious as his tail drooped like a withering flower, Kurt desperately looked about for an escape, any escape, any chance to get away as the Inquisition began to close the distance.
Twang.
"GAAAAAAAAAAH!" Kurt made no effort to muffle his agony as another merciless shot hit him in the upper part of his forearm. No, please... Don't….
"Nice shot!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, and Kurt began to panic even more as his voice grew ever closer. "These blessed bolts are surely burning the foul blood in the Demon's veins!"
Kurt's vision began to blur, and his skin started turning an unhealthy bluish-grey due to loss of blood. With no thought or particular strategy in mind, he ran pell-mell down the ancient streets in a last-ditch bid for freedom. Kurt's yellow eyes flashed this way and that, but no avenue of escape presented itself.
As he continued to flee, the clustered buildings of Zaragoza rapidly gave way to the Spanish countryside. Here, farmers and shepherds lived as they had always lived for hundreds of years, and the small houses that grew fewer and fewer in between were simple and functional. Kurt didn't have time to take in the scenery, and for a moment he resigned himself to his fate until-
There. This house was dark, and that meant its occupants were either out on the town or asleep. Kurt's heart soared with wild hope, and he immediately decided to hide there until the coast was clear. Kurt dabbed a hairy finger in his own wounds, smearing the blood on a patch of flowers, so as to mislead his pursuers.
With all the stealth and grace of a moonlit shadow, Kurt vanished through an open window.
Meanwhile...
Catherine Hernandez shifted the large basket of vegetables on her arm into a more comfortable position as she wound her way back home, and the spring in her step hinted that her usual cheery attitude had not abandoned her.
Catherine was an unusual woman in several ways. At eighteen years of age, she was strong-willed and determined, friendly toward all but submissive to none, and, unlike many of her peers, she was outspoken and passionate in her beliefs, voicing her opinions to both other women and men alike. Even more unusual was the fact that she was not yet married, and whatever suitors had presented themselves had been turned away. Though she could certainly be considered attractive, Catherine thoroughly enjoyed being independent. The thought of turning control of her life over to a man held no appeal to her.
It was true, though; Catherine was very much self-sufficient. At an early age she had shown remarkable skill in weaving and sewing, and she was now the proprietor of a well-known and well-frequented clothing shoppe. Her skills with needle and thread were widely acknowledged as second to none, and even some of the area's most powerful noble families had sent in orders a time or two. Commoners and Duchesses alike frequented her establishment, and Catherine had yet to disappoint them.
The young woman's brown eyes widened in shock as the vicious men of the Inquisition thundered past. One of the horsemen barely avoided trampling her, and Catherine glared up at him as she got back on her feet.
"I would thank you to watch where your horse is going, Senor."
The man touched the brim of his metal helmet in apology. "I am sorry, senorita, but nonetheless I would advise you to stay inside tonight. El Diablo has been spotted in this very town, and I shudder to think of what would befall you should you encounter him."
"El Diablo? Are you sure?" Catherine was stunned. She had heard stories bandied about around town, tales of an unholy creature wandering through the Spanish countryside, but Catherine had dismissed such rumors as little more than a product of one tankard too many.
"Si," The soldier replied gravely. "It has fled into the countryside, and we must destroy it before it harms anyone else." And with that, the Spaniard turned his steed around and galloped down the way after his fellows.
"El Diablo?" Catherine muttered to herself. "Truly these are dangerous times, if the servants of Satan are abroad." She paused a moment to clutch the silver cross that hung around her neck. " I don't think I will sleep well tonight, knowing that such a creature could be lurking outside my window. I hope the Lord will protect me from its evil."
Catherine hurried the rest of the way home, to the modest building that served as her domicile and place of business. The size of her home was evident that her shop had done well: while it was far from a two-story villa, it was still much larger than the straw-thatched buildings her neighbors lived in. Catherine had even been able to put in real windows after a particularly good month of business.
The girl found herself comforted by the familiar sounds of the chickens and other small livestock she kept for her table. Her two sows, Maria and Gloria, lay sprawled in the mire of their pen, snorting blissfully amidst the muck. The chickens, too, seemed to have gone to bed, for only the occasional sleep cluck was heard from their coop. Even Benito, the cantankerous old rooster that helped produce fresh eggs and served as her alarm clock, was fast asleep. All was quiet.
In her eagerness to get inside and fill her belly, Catherine didn't even notice the blood that had been smeared on her flowerbed.
Once inside, the young woman groaned slightly as she set the obese vegetables on the table where she took her meals. After a moment's thought, Catherine decided that a meal of steamed peppers and spicy beef would be a nice selection for tonight's meal. The beef, fresh from Pedro the butcher, made a squelching sound as Catherine spitted it over the now-roaring fire. While she absently turned the spit with one slender hand, Catherine busied herself chopping the red and green peppers into chunks suitable for steaming. These went into an expensive metal frying pan that the blacksmith had given her for her birthday last year. Metal utensils were expensive, and Catherine had been enormously grateful for the gift.
BUMP! Crash!
Catherine's head snapped up, and panic threatened to consume her. Someone had broken into her house! Fear turned to fury as the indignity of having her home invaded dawned upon her, and Catherine clutched her vegetable knife tightly as she went to investigate the noise.
Meanwhile, Kurt Wagner swore silently and colorfully under his breath. He had knocked over a ceramic jar in his haste to vacate the house through a window that had been open for ventilation. The shards crunched under his furry toes as he fumbled and slipped in his hurry to flee, but in a spectacular instance of bad luck, he fell and hit his head on a wooden stool.
Stars exploded in Kurt's vision, and the combined effects of his injuries, exhaustion, and fear finally took their toll. The world began to swim, but a tiny gasp diverted Kurt's attention as unconsciousness began to claim his tired body.
His golden eyes widened in surprise and horror, for there was a young woman in the doorway.
And she was staring right at him.
Kurt felt a momentary, soul-searing despair before his mind went blank.
I'm going to die….
A/N: Hey, guys! I know it's been a while since I wrote "Laura's Journal", but this little plot bunny just refused to go away! Fear not, for the second chapter will be up very soon!
Your humble servant
-Quill N. Inque