The sparse, misty light had begun to linger, falling victim to the harsh, ominous dark that was crawling upwards in the East. He pushed himself further up against the towering shelf of rough ice, further down into the meagre burrow of snow he had dug out with his feet. He didn't know how far he had fallen, or how long he had fallen for – but it had seemed like an eternity. He had gone crashing, tumbling down the huge wedge of snow jutting out of the mountainside, the snow stinging his eyes and lips, the ice grabbing a hold of the end of his petit nose in a freezing vice and refusing to let go. He had rubbed his cheeks raw from the blistering itching of the cold pressing up against his body and the thick, drying tear-tracks burned as they streamed over the intense cold settling down on his face. His coat was thoroughly soaked, peppered with the large, intermittent flakes of snow that were still falling. He was too afraid to remove his gloves and look at his stiff fingers beneath, but under the material, his mind conjured up gruesome images of his fingers rotting away, curling and gnarling into dripping, necrotic, coal coloured flesh. He begrudgingly wiggled his toes, just able to feel them against the fabric of his sodden shoes, all whilst ignoring the burning numbness that speared his legs from the slightest movement.
He weakly kicked at the snow, seeking to push himself deeper into the ground, so that he could hide from the monster. If it was still looking for him. It could probably smell the pungent fear radiating off of him in waves and he swore he could still hear its deafening roars in the distance, being carried by the howling winds. The fierce snowfall was softening, allowing him to see out into the great expanse below the mountain. As the sky got darker around him, shuddering black and threatening show, he felt a sense of overwhelming terror gripping his chest, as the realisation he was totally alone barrelled down on him once more. He shuddered, shivering even more feverishly than he already was. He peered out from the embankment of snow and looked out into the indigo sky, looking at the sparse, weak, orange lights clustered on the horizon. Were those other people or was that his delirious mind yearning for company? It didn't matter. He was too terrified to even move from his position. There was a horrendous booming in his head that refused to subside as fear clung to him with a crushing grip. He curled up into a foetal position, tears collecting in the corner of his eyes and burning down his face in torrents. He cried until he had no more energy to wail and bawl in despair, sobbing and heaving without sound, puffing out the last spires of dying breath he could manage. He was too exhausted to be afraid, too exhausted to breathe – he was suddenly surrounded by a strange sense of bliss and calm as his head laid back against the ice. Who was he? Where was he? The majority of that dulled softly as soft, crunching footsteps approached slowly in the snow. He wasn't afraid of the footsteps that echoed closer to him like booming thunder as he let his eyelids slip closed. He could feel snowflakes dropping onto his face, surprisingly warm and heavy as there was an ear splitting boom that rocked the ice shelf…
The huge clap of thunder ripped him out of his surreal trance with a jolt. He panicked for a brief moment, head snapping from left to right until he was able to take in his surroundings and finally realise that he was back in reality. He blinked as the indigo sky flashed white for a moment, the outline of the clouds illuminated by the blast. The sky rumbled its warning in reply a moment later, echoing a roar from all directions. Between flashes, the landscape around him burst into view for momentary spells as he could see mountains, rolling fields and the crashing, wild sea. The realisation of where he was brought calm for a second – he wanted to be anywhere but back on that mountain. Then, it brought horrible calamity as he came to reluctantly realise that this wasn't where he was supposed to be. The key to freedom had been right in front of him – they had dangled it right in front of his nose. Then it had been snatched away from him, Kur had been snatched right out of his grip and replaced by this recurring nightmare, where the slightest thought of that pale woman's face had sent him back into that blizzard, where he was desperately holding hands with that young girl. He didn't quite know why he was so terrified to lose her, or why she seemed so terrified to let go of him. He didn't even know – or remember – who she was, but as soon as he was thrust back into that recurring vision, the urge to protect her became overwhelming. Why was he suddenly having these visions? He had fought tooth and nail to bury them in the far depths of his mind, and now, suddenly, everything was coming undone. It left him waiting there in the dark in a distant state of mind, contemplating what could have caused everything to come apart so fast. It had left him reeling.
He was still reeling from the nauseating blows to the head he had received in the fight. Maybe that was what was causing him to be so irrational. Maybe that was it. Maybe he had hit his head and his mind reacted by raking up these distant fears and distorting them into something new. He was mildly concussed and maybe it was causing him to be so careless of the risks of what he was doing.
What had caused him to flee here and not return to Argost like he had been supposed to? What would be the consequences when Argost inevitably found him?
His body was still clawing its way to the surface of this bizarre fatigue, leaving him dazed and nauseous – almost as though he was too groggy to realise the extent of what he had done. He had just wanted to get away from everything so fast and that he had ended up following the ship and collapsing as soon as they made landfall. The fog of confusion that clouded his mind lay over the pain and the fear of disobeying his superiors and he was left pondering his past, rather than his sins. The delirious haze had also left him open to a state of blissful awe, as with the pain and fear washed away, he could realise that he was totally and utterly alone here. As far as he knew, he had never been entirely alone since he had been plucked from the snow on that fateful light. Since then, as isolated and alone as he had felt, there had always been something or someone watching him from the shadows. Now, he was entirely, utterly alone, with nothing but the rain, wind and thunder as his non-sentient companions. It was strangely peaceful, being able to sit out in the open alone, with the warm rain soaking his skin, running down his back and chilling his bones. The feeling of being enveloped in natural darkness with the wind rustling through his hair was exhilarating – somebody could come up behind him and stab him in the back and he would be none the wiser. The corners of his lips twitched upwards for a moment as he looked down into the raging torrents of the ocean below, watching, mesmerised as the waves exploded against the rocks. The wind picked up the harsh spray and flung it as his face, whipping and lashing against his body as he stood firm, lacing his thick, scarred hands together as he looked out over the sea, where the horizon would appear and the ocean would shimmer with every aggressive flash of light.
He was deaf to any of the terror echoing in the back of his mind. Liberty was a warped drug, warming his sullen skin, lifting his ugly, slumped heart.
The ocean below was bucking and rearing wildly, the currents slamming the rocks mercilessly and then slinking down back into the depths. His boots were so sodden that he could almost feel the slick, wispy grass against his feet, brushing up against his ankles as it was churned up by the wind. The heavy droplets of rain plummeted down onto his face, gluing his darkened hair against his pale skin, fastening the scruffy strands of his hair to his head. His mask had been long since abandoned and his body suit was now even tighter against his dampened skin. He felt more exposed than he had ever felt and more weightless than any form he could take in sleep. He felt ghostly, like part of him had died after that encounter. Or part of him had been revived. He frowned, thinking deeper into his strange stupor, further into the state of disarray his mind had left him in. He uncontrollably tensed, his memory starting collect the pieces of the day's encounter together after the temporary amnesia had shrouded it in mist.
There was something that woman had called him, what was it?
The way she had looked at him with that inexplicable expression of horror, it was engraved into his eyes. There was almost recognition in her eyes as she had looked at him. One moment she had been ready to kill him and the next, she was looking down at him in utter despair. Now that he was starting to differentiate between reality and dreams, he noticed that there was an alikeness between the woman and the girl he kept seeing on the mountain, the one that had been clinging to him, pleading to hang on. However, that couldn't be possible. The nauseous visions of this stranger, this girl, they hadn't appeared since he had been nearly knocked unconscious.
That woman's face had been the last thing he had seen before he had hit the ground. Had his delirious mind placed her in his memories because she had always been in his memories, or because this strange state had placed her there on purpose?
Though, she did seem to know who he was. He didn't know how, as he had no memory of ever meeting her. He had heard of the Saturdays years ago, but he had never fought, or seen them until now, so it wasn't possible that she could have known him as an associate of Argost.
Unless Argost had mentioned him to the Saturdays as a threat?
That wouldn't have made any sense, though. Argost had kept him away from the line of fire on purpose, he had wanted to use him as a last line of defence in his scheme. It made little sense to him. He hadn't left weird world for such an extent before and if he had, he would have remembered.
Unless she knew him, remembered him from somewhere – remembered him from before the storm.
He would have remembered her, surely. Then again, he didn't have any memory from before Argost, other than that first night on the mountain. There were intervals, voices and glances between his thoughts, random and sparse clippings of faces that he couldn't quite piece together – but there was no memory of family or friends that he could hold together like a normal person should have been able to. Yet, this woman remembered him and she apparently knew him by name. She knew more about him than he did. Maybe he should seek her out?
No. That would be foolish of him. Whether she knew him or not, she was Argost's enemy. She was working against everything he should have looked forward to seeing. Besides, even if he was to go and see her, what would he say? He belonged to Argost, not to her family.
He was probably lying to himself; he had just ran away from everything he had ever known. He was likely delirious because he would end up dead soon. Argost wouldn't take kindly to him disobeying orders. Though, he wouldn't have taken kindly to him coming back empty handed. Perhaps the only chance of redeeming himself was if he could bring Kur to Argost still? That was his only chance at distracting Argost from bearing down on him for his failure. However, with the boy's mother acknowledging his presence, it would be much more difficult to follow them from the shadows. The fear was starting to crawl back up his spine as he realised just how dire the situation was, now that the joyous feeling of liberty was starting to drain away. He had accidentally accomplished something he had been dreaming about for years. And now that he had, he had no idea what he was going to do. He could feel dread wrapping its bony fingers around his neck in a cold grasp as the veil of amnesia started to wain – he was being hit by the full extent of just how foolish his split second decision had been. What had been wrong with him? Why had he thrown his life away in an instant on a revelation he had probably imagined in his damaged mind?
He would have to bring Kur to Argost. That was the only way he would be able to escape with his life. If they deemed him defective, he would have no chance. Even if he did manage to get away, even if by some miracle he could vanish from the grid or get away without mortal injuries – he would be living in a world completely alien to him. He would be totally exposing himself to the brutality of the rest of the world. Argost had warned him that nothing better lay beyond the gates to his own land.
He would have to take the boy to Argost. That would be the only way he could reverse the actions of his trauma induced haze and as the brief euphoria of freedom started to wear down, so did the harsh illusions of the white haired girl or woman from the mountain. Disappointingly, it had seemed more like an illusion now than ever. He tried to swallow the regret swimming up his throat – because that woman was still in the back of his mind, whispering that name to him, and he was trying to thwart his deep interest in the possibility of getting to know the identity that she seemed to know him as. Her horrified expression of recognition had planted the seed of doubt in his mind, which was now growing into branches of thorns that stung and scratched at any security he had about his origins. They pricked at the dulled thoughts he could barely remember, clutching at them and slowly dragging them up to the surface.
Doyle. That's what she had called him. She had looked down at him with soft blue eyes stunned with surprise and the name had slipped off her tongue as a question in her disbelief. He'd forgotten it at the time in the midst of the chaos, but now her questioning tone gnawed at his mind, echoing, calling, and beckoning him forwards.
Fear struck at his heart as he started to shiver more violently, not just from the cool rain settling on his slick skin. The thunder roared once more, the sky exploding with an aggressive flash that reflected the white terror in his face. He didn't even know who Doyle was. Were they that boy she had been desperately reaching for on the mountain? Were they someone from her past that she either desperately loved or loathed? If he was someone to hate, or someone she had mistaken for that – there would be little chance of safely finding out whatever information about his past that Kur's mother could possibly have about his past. He was frightened by what he would find.
Perhaps Argost was right, in a way. Maybe this woman was shocked because she hadn't expected him to live, if she did know him. Maybe she came from the same place as he did, knew the people, the parents who had abandoned him. Maybe she had been there when he had been thrown to the lions, thrown to the monsters. Maybe she was shocked to see that he had survived being outcast by man's throwaway society.
His darkened face twisted into an expression of anxiety. Argost had built him back up after he had been left to die, to freeze in agony on that mountain. He should have been able to pay the aristocrat back for his generosity. Weird World was not the comforting hold of regular human company perhaps, but it had strong walls and basic warmth that kept his bones from rotting down in that same prolific cold he had faced as an infant. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, raking his nails down his cheeks in anxiety. He should have ripped that boy away from his family without a second glance. He should have presented him to Argost with a glimmer of pride in his eyes. Instead; he was a coward. He fell at the sword of his opponent. He let the target go without protesting. He had been reluctant to return or try once more. The ultimate act of defiance. He owed everything to that cause and he had turned his back against it without a second thought at the time. He had been so deluded and incapacitated that he had fled in the face of defeat, rather than facing it. He worked his teeth into the groove in his tongue cut during the previous battle. He clenched his jaw as blood began to flow over his gums once more.
What had he done?
The blood glistened on the edges of his lips as he looked over towards the hills, to where the land met the sea on the other end of the island. Argost would have done it. Any cryptid would have done it. Even other humans; Van Rook and Abbey would have done it without any hesitation. He balled his hands into fists, squeezing them tightly.
They could do it, so he could do it too. He could be just as cruel as them, at least for this once.
The enormous airship was listing slightly to one side in the hanger, illuminated in the dark by the few floodlights hanging from the ceiling. The frame was propped up by scaffolding and boards, exposing the large hole torn into the bow of the ship. The thunder roared outside once more, being muffled by the metal walls hemming the ship together. He frowned, squinting his eyes to observe one of the inside light illuminating the inside of the ship. The rain was drying on his slick skin, sending chills sinking down to his bones. He shuddered, his sodden clothes sticking to him, the sudden change in temperature making the harsh, scarred skin on his hands and feet ache and burn in discomfort. His feet squelched against the bottom of his boots as he slowly moved closer towards the ship, ducking underneath it at the last moment to avoid being out in the open for too long. He frowned.
They had carelessly left the ramp to the ship cracked open. He could slip inside with ease and nobody would realise he was there.
He tore his eyes away from the surroundings, twitching at every sound from the space, paranoid. He swept his leg over the gap in the frame slowly, pulling himself up onto the ledge and crawling upwards onto the ramp, trying to force the sound out of his squelching footfalls. The deeper halls of the ship were an intense maze of winding, curling steels passageways, with the only sparse light being the dull bulbs positioned above the doorways. His fearful eyes darted left and then right and he steeled himself to continue, his heart pounding inside his chest. The dark didn't terrify him. It was the prospect of treading slowly through these unfamiliar corridors that set him on edge. He was half expecting to be ambushed from one of the doorways, especially knowing the preparedness of the Saturdays.
He should be being more careful, he should have been more fearful. Being fearful was what kept him alive. The strange boldness he was acting with was going to be detrimental to his health.
He craned his neck around one of the hallways, peering into the gradual blackness that spread out down the walls. He licked his lips nervously, gingerly taking steps down the halls until he reached several sets of stairs, leading up into the other areas of the ships. As he continued, some of the doors were key card protected, but some weren't, allowing him to push the latches open and peer inside. There were no sounds of any people, though and that both reassured and disappointed him at the same time, as now that the veil of confusion had gone from his mind, he could hear the words of the pale haired woman and her husband, echoing over and over like a thousand drums. His heart was knocking against his ribs as they repeated over and over again.
"A new apprentice Van Rook?"
"Get away from my son!"-
"Greetings and bienvenue boys and girls. A very warm welcome to you all watching my delightful television show."
He froze suddenly, his blood turning to ice as his whole body tensed uncontrollably. He had almost jumped from shock, pressing himself back against the wall, shaking. The corners of his mouth had upturned into a grimace at the sound of Argost's voice and he resisted the urge to throw up what little scraps were sitting in the pit of his stomach. His legs wobbled, almost giving out of him completely as he slumped down against the wall, terrified. The voice was distant, echoing from at least a few doors away, but Argost's distinctive tone wat ringing in his ears. He tried to listen closer, trying to make out just how far away he was. If Argost was here, in the ship, he would only have a matter of time to survive. Running away way out of the question. Trying to hide was out of the question. It was too late for that anyway. Argost would have him struggling by the neck in an instant. It dawned on him quickly and left him breathless, as though the hand was already there, grasping at his throat and squeezing the life out of him.
"Do I have a treat for you today lucky viewers, this delightful beast comes straight from the deep dark abysmal pits of the earth."
He listened again. The voice was muffled and sort of distorted – not as clear as normal speech should have been. He slowly began to release his muscles from the shock rooting him to the spot. He wanted to get closer, to hear it better, because although it was definitely Argost's, his tone was unusual, like he was masking himself with his doppelganger identity of a polite, rich, children's entertainer. He wouldn't have been speaking like that if he had been threatening someone. His tone would have become calmly contained and bitter, with rage barely running over his lips. This sounded like the false yet repulsing sweetness he lathered himself in before recording a session of weird world. Along with the choice of words – that was exactly what this seemed to be. He had finally convinced himself to move down the hall, hearing the static of Argost's voice edge closer slowly.
"Even the slightest hint of venom from this cryptid can melt your insides. Such a wonderful beast."
Something caught his eye – a static, flickering light creepy under one of the doors in the hall. He leaned closer, holding his breath gently as he moved an ear closer to the door. He could he Argost's voice clearly now, along with the hushed whispers and murmurs of people. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, thinking about the encounter with Kur's parents, just hours earlier. He listened closely to the voices and picked up on the lightness of one of the voices and the apparent garble of the rest. It was the boy and the giant, lanky ape creature. He sighed, almost in relief, the noise disguised by the blaring of the TV. It would be so easy to force his way inside now, incapacitate the giant monkey, take the boy and steal off into the night. Then again, he didn't want to make another mistake.
Argost was right, only one disgraceful mistake made everything less bearable. He wouldn't make any more – he would need to contemplate a plan in the hopes that the boy couldn't slip through the net. He was more than vastly outnumbered, but that didn't matter now. If they did catch him, The Saturdays would likely give him more mercy than Argost could ever muster, especially if Kur's mother had confused him for, or known him in, another life.
Whatever plan he could make - it would need to be something with more finesse and more care. He couldn't do callous brutality, he had long since realised that, but elegance and secrecy in what he was doing, hardening his face into a stone wall while the rest of him crumbled under torturous pain, that's what he had been trained for. He had been trained not to crack in the face of death, interrogation or pain. He couldn't manipulate or intimidate, but he could mask his true intentions and scrape every last detail off of those around him. He would need to be much less reckless if he was going to come out of this unscathed, and bring the world into a new golden era.
Gosh this chapter sounds so depressing and angsty reading it back to myself - and sadly the heartachy writing is only going to get more intense. Also I'm still accepting constructive criticism on these so any feedback is appreciated in this fandom that consists of twelve people and an old sock :'). Also TSS is 10 years old now. I wanted to get this done for the anniversary date or at least make some art but either way, 10 years is a mega milestone and how much things have changed since then is mindblowing.