Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel
Part One: Quickstep
3/3
By: The Sadistic Cow
"Mew?"
Slightly closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on his stomach. His hands clutched at his knees and he trembled with the icky feeling of having just thrown up everything in his belly. He could still smell the blood and the urine, and everything else that came with the corpses scattered around him, but once his stomach rid itself of all things once-delicious, he found that, while it was still gross, it didn't seem so bad.
"Mew?"
He opened one eye and looked down; there was the cat. It stared back up at him with its own eye, seeming to ask if he was okay. Slightly smiled weakly. "Hey, kitty," he said hoarsely. "Thanks for the save." The cat mewed again and began to purr, rubbing up against his legs.
Pyewacket snorted from his place atop a table that had somehow remained intact during the fight. "That is a really weird cat," he said suspiciously. "Wasn't he locked up in one of the cages back at the shop? I'm sure he was, since he'd been there for a while and nobody wanted him. Said he was ugly." The cat turned and hissed at him, as though it knew it had been insulted.
Slightly frowned. "He's not ugly," he said defensively. "I think he's slightly cute!" Another 'meow' answered that, and the cat pawed at his leg, demanding to be cuddled. Slightly grinned, picking it up and scratching behind it behind the ears. "See? He's not a bad kitty. Are you?"
It purred.
Pyewacket rolled his eyes. "I never said the damn thing was ugly. That was the customer's opinions. I'll admit, he's kind of…uh…cute, but that still doesn't explain how the hell he got out of the cage. It was locked, for frigg's sake."
This conversation was taking place partly because they were a little confused by it, and they wanted to ignore the sight and smell of dead monkeys. Pyewacket made a face as he glanced briefly around, then hopped down off the table and headed for the door. Slightly followed; still carrying the cat. He limped a bit from having his toes chewed, but he ignored that too.
Best not to think about it.
Neither of them mentioned the monkey's random attack. Neither of them wanted to. But both of them figured it was probably safer outside, or somewhere else. Actually, anywhere would be better than that cabin, what with the foul scent of dead animals and the chance more might come for them. Neither boy nor brownie wanted to think about what would happen if they were attacked again. They almost lost the first time, if it wasn't for the cat and the werewolf, who had vanished.
Pyewacket sighed, jumping up on Slightly's shoulder. "Where do we go from here, boss?" he asked. The blonde looked surprised.
"Why are you slightly asking me?"
"Because you're the big one who can protect me from all the big, bad ugly things that creep and slither through the night," Pyewacket retorted dryly. "No, really. I don't know what I'm doing half the time anyway so leaving anything up to me can be considered a bad idea. I thought up the cabin and look where it got us already." He wrinkled his nose. "Your turn, boss. Lead us to life or death."
Slightly snorted. "Fine."
He opened the door to be greeted by a gust of wind that almost knocked him off his feet. He yelped and stepped back, bringing one arm up to cover his face. The cat jumped down and meowed loudly. It waited for Slightly to gain his balance again before setting off, tail straight up in the air. Pyewacket snickered.
"Follow the little pink bum!" he cried.
Slightly grimaced. "Ew!"
But they did, following the cat as it trotted away. Its tail was like a flag, and they kept their eyes on it as they set off through the woods, heading in a direction where the future was unknown.
Slightly thought of the fight and how he had killed a whole horde of monkeys, the smell of their deaths, the smell of his own vomit, the sight of blood splattered across the walls and floor. It was a massacre, almost. Anyone who went in there now would think someone had been murdered, painfully and violently. He looked back at the cabin once, and only once, though immediately after he did he wished he hadn't.
Slightly felt a sudden, strangling terror as he saw tiny yellow eyes staring out at him from the thickets surrounding it. Hundreds of eyes. Thousands, almost. And what he saw in those eyes made him pick up his speed and look away fearfully.
Hatred. Complete, and utter hatred.
He followed the cat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was cold.
He was always cold.
Flesh made of ice, eyes like granite, fingers gnarled and curled so badly they looked like rotten tree roots. His face was squashed and pumpkin-like on the one side, while the other had smooth, flawless skin. One eye had a thick, flabby flap of flesh over the lid and a heavy brow, whilst the other was arched and rather lovely. His teeth jutted out from his lips, twisted and fanged. One ear was missing, and the other was covered by thick, red hair that fell down to his shoulders. He sat comfortably upon a throne made from the flesh and bones of humans. His grossly humped spine gave him a look of constant pain, and his legs were shriveled and practically useless.
But he was powerful. Oh, was he ever powerful.
Those gnarled and ugly hands, covered in warts and brown spots, had caused the deaths of many creatures. His eyes, granite holes in a face so full of hate, could stop a heart with one cold glance. And when he laughed the earth itself trembled in fear.
Now, amidst a sea of shadows and dark magic, a raging pride was burning in his black soul. Cracked lips split into a smile, baring his crooked, yellow teeth.
"That which will grant me power has been found."
Though he was in the 'real world', his mind and soul were somewhere else. The Heart of Never Land, where the magic Weave that bound the island to existence dwelled. It had taken him years to find it, to crack the codes of magic and break through the barriers. So many years of practice and pain, of mistakes that nearly cost him his life and successes that only swelled his thirst for power.
The Weave stretched before his mindscape's eyes, seeming to go on forever and ever. A great web of silver spider-silk, literally throbbing with magic and thrumming to a silent song. He reached out to pluck at the closest thread, forcing his way through the Weave's last defense.
He pulled gently upon it and the web vibrated almost painfully, the magic rushing through his body and sending it into twitching spasms. Somewhere within the Weave, something twitched and a searing jolt of pain rushed through him that was not his own.
The Weave hissed.
A low 'hmm' escaped his throat as he pulled his hand back, staring at the thread. Something strange, what could it be? A life force, he knew. A familiar one. One he knew, and one he despised for all the power it didn't quite know it had, power he could use so much better.
He reached out again, and tugged upon it a little harder. The life force on the other end jerked, and he felt another thunderbolt of pain rush through him. Of course it didn't hurt him; he knew pain like none other and besides, this pain was not his own. So he tugged, he felt the hurt, and he heard a mind-cry of pain from a voice he knew, and hated.
The Weave crackled.
Third time, he yanked with all of his might.
The Weave shrieked, and there was a loud POP! as whatever it was shrieked with it, and went through a sudden, wretched spasm, and then fell still.
His cracked and ugly smile spread further, almost splitting his face in half. He knew what the Weave connected to now. He knew how to fuck around with Never Land. He knew exactly what he could do to get his way.
Laughter bubbled up from his throat, a twisted sound that caused vines to rot and filth to fall from the ceiling, where corpses hung by nails and chains in a tapestry of death high above. His plans were all falling into place. His creations, his pets, had been sent out to dispose of the Indians and their Chief. He knew that if they remained free, they would cause a problem, especially Great Big Little Panther. That shaman was powerful and he could not, under any circumstance, allow him to stand on the opposing side.
So he would convert him. It was so simple, like baking cookies. Besides, his pets needed hosts. The perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
'One down, more to go.'
He thought with a giggle.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They slithered through the underbrush, a million strong. Soft flesh pulsed gently, and they left trails of sticky slime in their wake as they humped and thrust their way towards the Indian camp. They had no eyes, they had no mouths. As far as anyone could tell, they were nothing more than mutant slugs the size of kittens.
Everything they touched became coated in the thick slop that lay in a heavy layer on their fat, bulbous, black bodies. The path they left was absolutely soaked with it; trees and bushes all drawn together in a clammy web of ill-smelling foulness.
They crept along slowly, each and every one of the millions of slugs waiting anxiously for a host.
A host who would help them carve the way to complete and total domination for their master.
And as he had ordered, the Indians were first.
But if an animal, any animal, happened to cross their path…well, that would do, too.
As it was they already had quite a collection of possessed beasts in their ranks. From jackalopes to bears, from deer to wolves, all these animals had a black, ugly slug-thing perched just behind its skull, controlling them. Dim intelligence gleamed in their eyes, and they moved jerkily. They had been away from hosts for so long they had yet to perfect movement.
What did it matter, though? They were back.
As they crept their way into the camp, they spread out. There wasn't a human in sight, but that was only because of the storm. Their master was very clever, they thought. He brought the storm down on Never Land in order to hinder the movements of their soon-to-be victims. They needed shelter to survive, and the slug-things knew that shelters didn't get up and walk anywhere of their own accord.
So in they went, slithering under tent flaps and squashing their bodies down so they wouldn't be seen as quickly. The humans were there, sitting in huddled groups and whispering amongst themselves. The slug-things bulged and pulsed gleefully.
Finally, new hosts.
The Indians never knew what hit them. All they felt was a slight cold, damp feeling on the tips of their toes or fingers, and then they were cast into darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter and Nibs were fighting the wind as they made their way towards Small Monday Island. Their clothes flapped viciously in the gales and they narrowly missed random twisters that raced by. Peter being the stronger of the two was guiding Nibs along with one hand clamped firmly on the blonde's wrist. Nibs had one hand clutching the top of his head so he wouldn't lose his cap, but Peter seemed free as a bird.
"Oh, this is great!" the boy cried. "I'm so glad I thought of this!"
"Peter, we're looking for Slightly, not playing a game!" Nibs shouted, angry.
"I know that! But it's still fun!" The Eternal Youth grinned, pulling Nibs along behind him. At that moment though, he spotted something which brought him up short. He blinked in surprise.
"What's that?"
Nibs looked down. For a moment he felt a sense of dread. What if Peter decided to pay a visit to Captain Hook and his men before they went looking for Slightly? But when he saw what Peter was pointing to, he understood.
All around the Jolly Roger, the water had turned a deep, crimson red. It spread out and foamed grossly as the waves pushed it around, and Nibs realized with sudden horror that it was blood.
The bodies of mermaids floated atop the blood-stained water, their entrails hanging out everywhere and their mouths agape with dead screams. Bits and pieces of them lay strewn all over the place, and both boys could see the Croc swimming away, snapping her tail about in rage. The ship itself looked like it had sailed through hell and come out again, on the losing end of a fight, and the pirates on board looked lost and confused.
"What happened down there?" Peter demanded incredulously.
"I…I don't know," Nibs replied, shocked. What had happened?
Peter frowned. "I think we should check it out," he said, for once being utterly serious. Of course he was; nobody messed with Hook and the pirates except him! Dragging Nibs behind him, Peter flew low over the ship, crowing loudly to catch the pirate's attention. "Hey, Codfish!" he shouted.
Hook looked up and scowled. "Pan! How dare you show your face, you wretched creature!?"
Peter laughed. "What happened here, Codfish? Lose a fight?"
Hook snorted. "No, I did not lose a fight. Rather, your damnable island has gone to the pits of Davey Jones' locker and returned without a full deck of cards. Can you not control your sickening array of wildlife, Pan?"
The boy blinked. "What?"
"The mermaids, you dolt!" Hook roared. "For some inexplicable reason they've lost their minds and their wits. The only reason my gunner still lives is because that reptilian scum you fed my hand to must have felt rather generous this night! Had the rain not filled it to capacity and rendered it useless, I'd have fired Long Tom at you brats the moment I laid sight of you!"
"Is that…what happened?" Nibs whispered, looking at all the blood. 'The Croc got them? Oh no…this is terrible!'
Mullins growled. "If you scugs are after feelin' bad about that lot of hellish horrors, I wouldn't bother. Something nasty was goin' on in their heads and Billy almost got the worst of it."
Peter looked around, suddenly realizing that Billy was, indeed, missing. "Where is Mr. Jukes anyhow?" he asked.
"Probably on the shore of Small Monday Island, hacking up his lungs," Starkey replied sourly. "I say, he must have swallowed several barrels of water by now so it wouldn't surprise me if that was the case."
The Eternal Youth raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess we should go see him and make sure he's alright!" he said cheerily. "Come on, Nibs. We have to go find Slightly anyway!"
Pull.
As the two began to fly away, Peter abruptly froze. His eyes widened and he clutched his chest, mouth opening wide to take a hitched, airless breath.
Tug.
His heart…oh god it felt like someone had wrapped their fist around his heart and begun to squeeze. He tried to speak but nothing came out, only a tiny, strangled hiss. Peter's eyes began to bulge, tiny veins bursting within them and dripping tears of blood. A vein on his forehead stood out, and he twitched violently mid-air.
YANK.
Nibs turned when he realized that Peter had stopped, and he cried out upon the sight of Peter in such a state. His face was white as a sheet, eyes bulging out, mouth gaping open in a silent scream. "Peter!" the boy shouted as the Eternal Youth's eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a stone. Nibs dove after his leader, but wasn't fast enough to catch him in time.
Peter hit the deck with a sickening thud, bouncing roughly and rolling a few feet before he went still. Hook and the rest of the pirates stared in bewilderment as the boy lay there, barely breathing, blood gushing out of his eyes.
Nibs flew down to land next to Peter, mindful of the pirates. He kept one eye trained on them while he bent over Peter, rolling him over. He gasped, seeing the pallid look on his leader's face. Ashen colour, eyes stuck wide open and crimson, mouth agape…he looked like death itself. Nibs lurched back, one hand covering his mouth in horror.
Suddenly, he felt something grab him by the back of his shirt and lift him into the air. He came face to face with Hook, who sneered at him. "And what, pray tell, do we have here?" he said in a soft, venomous voice. He glanced down at Peter, and stared. "What in blazes happened?!"
Nibs quailed in Hook's grip, shock and fear racing through him. "I-I don't k-know…"
The man smirked. "What a glorious opportunity to slay my enemy where he lies," he snarled, drawing his sword. Oddly enough, Starkey intervened, raising a hand almost timidly.
"Ah, Captain, sir," he began, pausing once. Then he coughed into his fist. "Sir, I highly doubt that killing Pan in that state would be considered gentlemanly. Besides, would you not rather have your revenge when he is in good form? He doesn't pose much of a challenge right now, lying there like a blob of clay."
Hook considered this. His eyes narrowed as he thought, his frown growing deeper. 'If I were to kill him now, there would be no satisfaction in it. Defenseless as he is, the simplicity of severing his head from his neck would mean nothing. Preferably, I would have him awake so as to feel the killing blow.'
"Perhaps you're right, Gentleman Starkey," he replied, sheathing his sword. "For once in all your miserable life, perhaps you are right. I cannot in good conscience destroy Pan when he is not even awake to experience his death."
Nibs breathed a silent sight of relief. Hook looked at him, scowling again. "As I cannot kill him, I will instead aid him in his recovery so that I may kill him at another time. SMEE!!!!"
The bosun hustled over. "Aye, Cap'n Hook sir?"
"Smee, I intend for that wretched brat to recover so that I may kill him myself. Kindly," and he exaggerated this word, "see to it that he does."
"Aye, Cap'n!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tiger Lily walked through the storm as though it wasn't even there. Her eyes were set straight ahead, unblinking, and there was a tiny smile upon her lips like she was thinking of something funny, but not funny-ha-ha. She approached her brother's teepee, pausing only once as though to converse with her inner self, before pushing the flap open and stepping inside.
Hard-To-Hit lay beneath a thick pile of animal skin blankets, sleeping soundly and seemingly unaffected by the storm. Tiger Lily stared blankly at him, once again conversing with her inner self. She barely breathed, her pupils were dilated and her nostrils flared. That small, serene smile still sat perched upon her lips.
Slowly, calmly, she walked toward him. The hump on the back of her neck pulsed and bulged like a lung, in and out, in and out. It matched the rise and fall of her chest, breathing with her as she knelt down and laid a hand on her brother's shoulder, dark eyes lacking life.
Hard-To-Hit startled, his eyes flashing open. He stared up at Tiger Lily in confusion for a moment before he let out a deep whoosh of breath. "Geeze, sis, don't do that!" he hissed, flopping back down from his half-upright position. "Almost scared me to death!" He closed one eye and sighed. "If it's not important then go away, I want to go back to sleep."
She continued to smile. "Brother, I have a gift for you."
He cracked open an eye. "Really?" He sounded suspicious. "It had better not be a prank, Tiger Lily. I'm too tired to get you back."
"No, it's not a prank." Tiger Lily continued to smile. "It is a great gift, one I'm sure you'll like."
Hard-To-Hit frowned as she made no inflections in her speech. It was strangely flat, and he opened his other eye to peer more closely at her.
"Are you alright?" he asked, more suspicious. "You sound…funny."
"I am fine," his sister replied in that same, flat tone. "But I want to give you a gift."
"You keep saying that," Hard-To-Hit said, sitting up fully now. He stared into Tiger Lily's eyes, his frown deepening as he noticed the blankness in them. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"You will like it," she said, reaching out to grab his shoulder painfully. Her fingers pressed harshly into his skin, and he yelled in pain.
"OW! Tiger Lily!" He slapped her hand away and scuttled back, scowling. He rubbed his shoulder. "That hurt!" White marks were where her fingers had been, quickly filling in as blood rushed back into the area.
"Come here, brother," Tiger Lily said, her voice growing dark and rough. Hard-To-Hit stared at her, wide-eyed. "I will give you eternal bliss."
"What are you talking about?!" She lunged for him and he yowled, rolling out of the way. Faster than he thought possible she spun and pounced on him, knocking him to the ground, her knees dug into his chest and her hands dug deeply into his skin. Hard-To-Hit cried out again in pain.
"Eternal bliss waits for you when you accept your master," she snarled.
Hard-To-Hit then noticed the large, pulsing blob perched on the back of her neck, under her hair. He hissed through his teeth. "What is that?!" he demanded, frightened.
"Your new master," said Tiger Lily as she hunched her shoulders, pushing Hard-To-Hit further into the dirt. The lump began to beat like a heart, quickly and sickly. A slow-creeping trail of slime slipped down her shoulder, dripping onto his face.
Hard-To-Hit howled in terror as a disgusting, slimy black blob began to seep out from under her shirt and around her neck. It hung for a moment, dripping a sticky liquid that stuck to his face upon contact. He squirmed wildly in her grip, terror gripping at his heart as the blob began to drop towards him like some kind of weird spider.
"Tiger Lily! Please! Stop! Let me go!"
"Eternal bliss," she repeated, gripping him harder.
Hard-To-Hit, in a fit of horror, disgust and fear, wrenched himself violently, bringing one hand up to crack his sister across the face. She fell back with a grunt, taking the slug-thing with her. It fell to the earth with a sickening plop, and the smell that arose from it nearly made the boy gag. As Tiger Lily began to get to her feet, Hard-To-Hit bolted outside.
Right into a group of Indians with big, fat, slimy slug-things clinging to their necks. Great Big Little Panther stood in front of them all, arms crossed, eyes gazing blankly at his son as the boy jerked to a stop, skidding in the mud.
"We have been waiting for you," Great Big Little Panther said. Like Tiger Lily's, his voice was void of emotion, and Hard-To-Hit felt his stomach flip-flop in the purest horror. "Come to me and enjoy the gift bestowed upon us."
"No, father…" Hard-To-Hit whispered. "Not you too!"
The Indian Chief reached out to grab him but the boy was gone. His feet carried him through his people in a wild sprint as they all came to life, lashing out to snatch at him with their greasy, slime-slick hands.
Hard-To-Hit ducked and dodged, never reducing his speed and before he knew it he was ripping through the woods like a bat out of hell. Tears streamed down his face as he went, remembering the blank looks in the eyes of his family, of his people.
When he finally stopped, sure that he had lost them, he dropped to his knees and wailed his sorrow to the unforgiving skies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Jolly Roger's gunner crawled out of the foamy waters looking like some kind of weird zombie creature back from the dead. Hair plastered in wild swirls and tangled across his face, clothes sopping wet and clinging to his lithe form, mouth hanging agape and eyes bulging, Billy Jukes flopped to the ground with a wet gasp. His hands dug into the sand to leave gouge marks as he dragged himself forward further, in an attempt to get as far away from the bloody water as he could.
'I made it, I made it, oh thank the gods I made it!'
he thought, as a great wave of relief washed over him. Rolling over to lay on his back, relishing in the fact that he could actually breathe and not worry about swallowing water, Billy let out a slightly demented laugh. 'Oh man, that was wild.'Thunder rolled above him and he winced a bit. This really wasn't a good time to lay back and giggle like a lunatic, so he sat up and looked around to take stock of his surroundings, and of his own health. To his relief he had no missing limbs or hindering injuries other than a bruised rump, and he recognized that he was now on the shore of Small Monday Island. And any mermaids that might have crawled out of the waters to eat him alive were now floating in bits and pieces, washing up onto the sand by the blood-stained waves that rolled in and out.
'Oh, yuck.'
He could see the Jolly Roger bobbing out in the water, and two figures floating above it. He frowned. Who the hell would be out in this weather? The Lost Boys? But which ones? He squinted, getting to his feet to stare harder out at his ship.
One was definitely Peter, and the other…
For a moment he thought it was Slightly, what with the blonde hair and all, but then he saw the bear cap and the red shirt. Nibs.
Billy sighed. He was rather glad it wasn't Slightly with Peter. His friend shouldn't be out in this weather; in fact, nobody should have. And what with all the weird goings on, he didn't think it was safe for even the animals to be out of their nests and burrows.
Unless the animals of Never Land had fallen victim to the same…thing…that had gotten to the mermaids.
Now that was a creepy thought.
'Good thing that isn't the case,'
he thought.The gunner shivered, rubbing his arms. Goosebumps dappled his skin and he knew that he would have to find shelter. It would take some time for his shipmates to come get him, or for him to return to the ship on his own. He would have to wait, either for the weather to calm or to make sure there weren't anymore psycho mermaids swimming about, waiting to chow down on Gypsy flesh.
Billy turned away from the shore, biting his lip as he looked around. Shelter. He needed shelter, and quickly. Taking a deep breath, Billy began walking towards the woods. He had been here before, maybe someone at Small Monday Fair could give him a place to stay for the night, out of the weather.
Had he been looking, he would have seen Pan spasm mid-air and drop to the deck. Had he been looking he also would have noticed a small, gleaming silver thread flicker in the sky, one thread of many that connected Peter to the magical Weave of Never Land.
But he wasn't, and he didn't.
Though maybe he should have, since had he, he would have known that things were about to get much, much worse.
To be continued…
